


Game of Humanity

by SheilaPaulson



Series: Game of Humanity / The Dreamers [1]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-11-19
Updated: 2002-11-19
Packaged: 2018-12-15 18:36:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 48,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11811885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheilaPaulson/pseuds/SheilaPaulson
Summary: Aliens have a game to play with humans....





	Game of Humanity

**Author's Note:**

> Note from oracne, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Hammer to Fall](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hammer_to_Fall), a Blake’s 7 archive, which has been offline for several years. To keep the works available for readers and scholars, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after June 2017. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Hammer to Fall collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/HammerToFall/profile).

"The contest grows tedious," Albatiron insisted. "Your Greens are a waste of time, Maldorin. I don't see why you must spend so much time with them. They're a failure. Discard and start again."

Maldorin shot an impatient thought at his brother. "I'm fond of my Greens," he explained. "And don't forget I have an unused move. Example. I haven't tried that yet."

"It never works, that's why. Give up your Greens and start over. Example is even more tedious than Threat. It always takes so long. I'm bored already."

"It needn't take more than a year, Albatiron. I'm entitled to a year, and you know it. You have your meditation and I know you're gaming with Faldiray as well. He plays a vicious game and you fear my leisurely methods blunt your skill. If I win with my Greens, you'll have to reorder your thinking, and you've become set in your ways. Perhaps we all have. That's why I want to try example. I've been monitoring the savages, and I think I've found a possible Example. I can bring him here without expending all my points. I have the Energy and the Turn. You can't move until I've finished."

"But  _savages_ , Maldorin? You know they never work as planned. If you separate them from their own kind, they often sicken and die. Fragile creatures, almost as weak as your beloved Greens." Albatiron peered at the gameboard spread before them, idly picking up a counter and tossing it from hand to hand.

Maldorin snatched it from him and replaced it carefully. "My Greens live, brother. Can you say the same for the Yellows you contrived three games ago? They never became more than lumps, little better than rocks or space dust. You're pretending boredom because my Greens might achieve more and you're afraid you'll lose."

"Your Greens are too similar to the savages you plan to use as Example, brother. At least Faldiray doesn't play with sentience. He manipulates disaster, and it's exciting. He has no patience with you, either. I fear you've become dangerously corrupted with sentiment. Just like the savages. You know how they kill each other."

"I know they needn't kill each other," Maldorin responded. eyeing the counters. "I can shift my Greens toward the Savage gameboard, holding them just this side of it so they can't leave until I've finished. A year. maybe less. I've found the perfect Example. My Greens will learn much from him."

"Only one? You're entitled to four."

"No, I won't need four. Two should do it. One as Example, one to keep Example company. If I use savages, I won't break them completely. Even though you don't understand it, I'll play fair, my brother."

"You'll turn your Greens into insipid little savages."

"No, Albatiron. I'll turn my Greens into something even more. Maybe I'll teach  _you_  something along the way." He turned from the gameboard and moved over to the control panel. Adjusting dials with great enthusiasm, he said, "You might just find my Example interesting. He's perfect for the Greens. Perfect. They need the right kind of savage, after all. None of this random Example nonsense either. I'm playing to  _win_."

"Then you're a kind of savage yourself, Mal. You should know the only reason to play is to play."

"You're the one who's bored," Maldorin reminded him. punching up the sequence he wanted. "Now, quiet. I want to do this properly. The savages must believe themselves unable to return home. I must find a convincing reason for them to meet my Greens. If I depart too far from their reality, they will doubt its existence and believe it a dream. Savages do dream, brother. Maybe that's how they differ from us."

"Your Greens don't dream," Albatiron reminded him. "If that's why your example is meant to convey, then you are a fool and should concede to me now. We can start a new game."

"I prefer this one." He pushed the button, laughing at the disgusted emanations his brother projected at him.

* * * * *

 

 

"You're a fool, Blake," Avon retorted. Since he said this with boring regularity, Blake had long since learned to discount it, although lately it had begun to rankle. Since Gan's death, Avon had seemed more vicious, but part of that might have been guilt. Blake had caused Gan's death, after all, and it was just like Avon to remind him of it. It was only wishful thinking that suggested Avon's responses were so extreme because he missed Gan, too. Blake often suspected he read motives into Avon that weren't really there. He wanted to believe Avon could care about them—to be honest, about him. Although he felt himself still more driven now that Gan was gone and a part of him insisted he must devote his every waking instant to the Cause, another part wanted to cling to his companions for all he was worth. At least they were still alive and he meant to keep them that way. But maybe the two were mutually exclusive. Maybe his cause would kill Avon and the others just like Gan, although they still followed him, even Avon. There was a different mood on  _Liberator_  these days. The foundations of their existence had been shaken. Blake fell into the old routine; planning raids with increased fervor, warding off Avon's cynicism, encouraging Cally's ardor for the cause, boosting Vila when he complained too loudly. Going off to think had been one of his more futile schemes. Even though Avon had rescued him and had briefly shown traces of the old Avon, he had pulled back quickly, and now it was almost war between them.

 

On days like this when Avon scornfully disagreed with everything he said, Blake couldn't help wondering if Avon meant to go his own way soon. In spite of the annoyance of Avon's constant disagreements and the abrasiveness of his personality, Blake didn't want Avon to go. It was a gut reaction, something he couldn't control. Continue his fight against the Federation alone? Unthinkable. Yet it could happen all too easily.

 

"Am I?" he challenged. "All right, I admit I drove us too hard looking for Central Control. I admit it led to Gan's death. But even if I made mistakes, that doesn't change the fact that we must still find Central Control. We have to stop the Federation, Avon."

 

"Should I accept that as a given, which would be a somewhat unwarranted assumption on your part, are you certain that finding Central Control is the best possible strategy?"

 

"Give me an alternative, Avon. You must have some suggestions. Anyone can complain, but that's not the answer. Offer me an option."

 

When Avon glared at him, Vila piped up, "I've got one, Blake. Let's run. Get right out of Federation space. Find a rest and relaxation center. We need a holiday from all this tearing around."

 

"Vila is right," agreed Cally, leaning forward to face Blake. They were all gathered on the flight deck, even though no missions were currently planned. In spite of the size of the  _Liberator_  and though they often quarreled when together, it was interesting how often the crew collected there when they needn't. Even Avon, the self-proclaimed isolationist, was often to be found there, though he would vanish for days emerging only for his watch if anyone remarked on it.

 

"See," Vila insisted gleefully. "Cally agrees with me. Let's find a nice pleasure planet with a sunny beach and lie about in the sun."

 

"And how would you defend yourself from the inevitable sea monsters that will emerge to threaten you?" Avon asked.

 

"My beach won't have sea monsters. I'll check with Zen and Orac to be sure."

 

"But wouldn't you be bored?" asked Cally, a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes.

 

"Bored? When he is doing nothing?" Avon argued. He seemed rather relieved to abandon the subject of Central Control, although he had initiated it. Although Avon found it hard to relax, he could sometimes do so in teasing Vila. Blake would have been concerned for anyone who felt the sharp edge of Avon's tongue but, oddly enough, Vila seemed to thrive on it. There were times when Blake found himself planning new ways to encourage them in some harmless mischief.

 

Filing that thought under "crew-management of," Blake decided to enter the discussion. "For once, I agree with you, Vila. Maybe a short holiday would be a good idea. Zen, are we in range of any uninhabited planets capable of supporting humanoid life?"

 

"He agrees with me," Vila muttered under his breath, grinning, raising his voice to add, "Preferably one with nice sunny beaches, Zen."

 

+The planet Sarken is suitable for your requirements,+ Zen responded. +It is thirteen hours from the present position at the current speed.+

 

The idea of a few days' rest appealed to Blake. They needed a break. The harder he pushed them, the harder they would push back. "Increase speed to standard by six," he ordered, "And tell us about Sarken."

 

Sarken was a water world with several islands and atolls ideal for recreation. The sea creatures that dwelt in the deeps could not come into shallow water. "So you're safe, Vila," Jenna pointed out. "I think I'd like some sun myself."

 

"You can share my beach," Vila offered promptly.

 

"I think not. With all that shoreline, I'd prefer to go alone. Maybe we all should, Blake. We can't seem to get away from each other here."

 

Blake wanted to share Jenna's beach, but he agreed. He only wished he could be sure Avon would take full advantage of the occasion. But Avon wasn't fond of frolicking in the surf, and Blake couldn't imagine him lying on a towel and soaking up the sun. Avon would probably take his holiday on the ship, and that would defeat the purpose of the exercise.

 

"What about you, Avon?" he asked. "Will you come down?"

 

"That sounds suspiciously like 'Avon needs a holiday.' Don't try to structure it for me, Blake. I may go down simply to get away from the rest of you."

 

"You don't intend to swim?"

 

"No. However, I see that determined glint in your eye. Do I take that to mean I will be dragged forcibly into the water?"

 

"Would we do that to you?" Vila asked cheerfully, and Blake had a delightful mental picture of Vila and Cally tossing a protesting Avon into the ocean fully clad. Careful not to grin, he said, "It won't come to that, Avon. I'd just like you to get away for awhile."

 

"My idea of recreation is, fortunately, quite different from Vila's."

 

"Then come down with me and we'll explore." As he made the spontaneous offer, Blake wondered if he had set himself up for rejection, but instead of declining, Avon said, "I do not intend to spend much time on Sarken. However, I will come down with you, if only to remind myself how fortunate I will be when I return to the controlled atmosphere on the ship. When the rest of you return, sunburned and uncomfortable, I will be waiting."

 

"To say I told you so?" Jenna asked tartly.

 

"Of course." He bared his teeth in an unconvincing smile.

 

"Well, we don't want you down there anyway," Villa proclaimed. "I want to have fun, and I can't do that with old sourpuss glaring at me whenever I splash water about."

 

"Remind me to avoid your beach," Avon said and strode off the flight deck.

 

After orbit was achieved and Blake was ready to teleport, Avon appeared again, dressed not in swimwear, but in clothing suitable for walking about planetside, and carrying a small pack. Pleased to see him, Blake asked, "Are you ready, Avon? Going to hunt specimens?"

 

"This is my lunch," Avon returned, and Blake wasn't sure he meant it or not. Cally and Vila had teleported to the beach immediately and a little later Jenna had gone to a slightly different stretch of sand. Orac would teleport them when ready.

 

Blake put on his teleport bracelet. He was looking forward to time spent with Avon. When Avon relaxed a bit, he could be good company and, as long as Blake watched his words, it might be possible to enjoy the time they spent together. Though Avon wore the slightly wary look of a man who had consented to something he doesn't expect to enjoy, there was no brittle tension or ready hostility on his face. He was trying, too. Blake hid a smile, wishing these moments of Avon's were not so rare.

 

Avon joined him in the teleport. "Shall we get it over with, Blake?" he asked. Nothing was perfect. Blake grinned wryly. "Put us down, Orac."

 

* * * * *

 

 

Cally was half dozing, feeling the warm soothing sun caress her back as she lay on the sand. Vila had oiled her against sunburn, enjoying himself far too much in the process and insisting she do the same for him, and now he was asleep, snoring faintly. She roused a little. It was still four hours until sundown and, if they both slept, they would be burned. Perhaps she should return to the water. It would feel lovely, just cool enough to take the edge off the day's heat. Suddenly her face lit with delighted mischief. A little cool water dumped on Vila would produce interesting results. Looking about for something to hold water, she stood easily, brushing the sand off her arms and legs when her teleport bracelet chimed at her. She retrieved it from her towel. "Cally."

 

"It's Jenna. Have you seen Blake or Avon?"

 

"No. Why? Is something wrong?"

 

"I've just come back aboard and Orac's heard nothing from them."

 

"Perhaps they've fallen asleep," Cally returned, not yet seriously alarmed. "Vila's sleeping."

 

"Vila's always sleeping. I tried to contact Blake but I couldn't reach him. That worried me so I tried to bring them up, but I couldn't. Nothing happened. Orac says he can't lock into their bracelets."

 

"Can't Zen or Orac find them?"

 

There was a pause for consultation before Jenna came on again. "Orac is intrigued by their disappearance," she reported disgustedly. "Zen's conducting a scan of the area where they were put down, but there's no trace of human life there."

 

"You mean they've vanished?" asked Cally in alarm, her tone penetrating Vila's slumber. The thief sat up quickly, rubbing sleep-blurred eyes, and glancing around in alarm. "What's wrong, Cally?" he asked.

 

"We can't find Avon and Blake. Jenna, could they have been...." She hated to say it. "Zen reported large sea creatures. Is it possible they were attacked?"

 

"Zen says the creatures could not have reached them; they teleported inland. There have been no other ships in orbit and no evidence of underground bases. Zen and Orac are still checking. Zen recommends a personal investigation."

 

"Personal investigation," Vila groused. "It's all very well for Zen. He doesn't have to do the dirty work. Could the teleport have malfunctioned? Maybe they're on the other side of the planet by mistake."

 

"Orac would still have been able to read their bracelets," Jenna reminded him. "I've run a teleport check. It's functioning perfectly. I'll bring you up now, then we can look for them."

 

But it proved an exercise in futility. The teleport worked flawlessly, depositing them in the area Avon and Blake had chosen for their landing. It was a marshy plain some distance from the sea, and hills rose steeply on one side, offering a superb view of much of the surrounding area. Although they could see all the way to the shore, nothing moved beyond a few birds. The sky was blue and serene and there was a light breeze. But there was no trace of the two men, not even footprints.

 

"What shall we do now?" Jenna asked when they came back. "Where can we look next?"

 

"I bet Servalan's behind this," Vila offered suspiciously. "The Federation anyway."

 

"If so, they're doing it from a long ways off," Jenna reminded him. "There's nothing in sight and nothing on the extra range detectors. It's as if they simply ceased to exist."

 

"I hate to say it, but might there be something down there that could destroy people without a trace?" Cally asked. "Zen? I want a thorough scan of every possible treat on the surface of the planet. In the ocean, too. Anything that could have made Avon and Blake disappear?"

 

+Confirmed.+

 

Vila looked very unhappy. He slunk around the flight deck, clutching a glass of adrenaline and soma, obeying any suggestions Cally and Jenna made. He looked so pathetic that Cally felt for him. He had been closer to Gan than any of the others and had lost him. Now it looked like Avon and Blake might be dead as well. All of a sudden, the illusion of their safety on  _Liberator_  had burst like a bubble, and Cally didn't know if it could ever be recaptured.

 

"What do we do next?" Vila asked in a small voice.

 

"We keep looking," Jenna returned fiercely. "We look in every possible place."

 

"And if we can't find them?"

 

"Then we try the impossible places."

 

 

* * * * *

 

Blake's head ached. In fact he felt a lot of other pains as if he'd been beaten all over with clubs. His stomach was sour and queasy and his mouth tasted of unmentionable things.

 

He was groggy and disoriented and, for some time, he simply lay there without thinking. Presently a noise penetrated his limited awareness, a painful whimpering kind of sound, like a creature in incredible agony. It took time for Blake's brain to connect that with reality, but finally curiosity prompted him to open his eyes.

 

He lay in a cave dimly lit by a fire that gave off a acrid odor and cause shadows to bounce off the far walls. Between him and the shadows were a group of humanoid beings bent over something on the earthen floor They had the requisite number of arms, legs, and facial features, but beyond that they were quite different. Hairless, with round heads, their eyes were almost catlike above sharp little noses. Open mouths proved them omnivorous; their teeth were the closest things to human about them. Their bodies were thin and wiry, their skins faintly green, and they were small. If he were standing beside them, they would probably reach his shoulders, no more. They wore patterned skirts that reached to the knees, all different designs, and the females wore a kind of breast wrap.

 

But the worst thing about them was not their alienness, but rather the pitiless and implacable expression in their eyes. They were not human, but neither were they humane. There seemed nothing of civilization about them, yet the fact that they made and wore clothing suggested intelligence.

 

They had something down on the floor in front of them and they were torturing it. Blake eased himself up on one elbow, prepared to intervene, to stop whatever produced those dreadful sounds of pain. When he leaned closer, his worst fears were confirmed. It was Avon.

 

He was conscious and suffering. His leather jacket had vanished and his shirt was in shreds. The creatures—Blake could not think of them as people—seemed to be tracing patterns over his skin, leaving bright red welts behind that swelled and blistered before his eyes. The creatures had no claws; the fingertips narrowed to hard, horny points and, as Blake stared for one appalled moment, they traced across Avon's face, toward his eyes. Avon struggled uselessly, held down by sheer numbers.

 

Blake erupted into movement. "Leave him!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs, leaping forward to stand between Avon and his tormentors, sending them flying as he pulled them away. He caught one look at Avon before he turned to face them. At Blake's first movement, Avon had forced himself to silence, biting his lip to hold back his pain. His eyes were enormous, pupils dilated, and tears had run down his cheeks involuntarily. When he saw Blake look at him, his lip curled, perhaps in scorn at Blake's 'heroic' rescue, but there was gratitude in his eyes. Blake gave him an encouraging look before he turned to confront the creatures.

 

They backed away as he burst into their midst, and now they bunched together beside the fire, chattering to themselves in a language he could not understand. He dropped a hand to his gun only to find the holster was empty. They must have recognized it as a weapon. If he had to take them on with his bare hands, he would. "Avon?" he called over his shoulder. "Can you move?"

 

"I would...prefer not to." Avon's voice was hoarse and strained, but he was alert. That seemed almost worse, that he'd had to face them knowingly.

 

"What did they do to you?"

 

"Something in their skin...a secretion perhaps...burns, like acid." Avon's voice held fierce hatred. If he had been armed, his tormentors would now be dead.

 

Acid? Then it could still be acting. Blake took a threatening step toward the little beings. "'Water?" he demanded. "Give us water."

 

That went over with a dull thud. They were staring at him now, eyes round and curious, but they didn't move or speak.

 

Blake tried to gesture, miming drinking, but they only stared.

 

/Live thing, person thing?/ He didn't know where it came from, but it felt a little like telepathy. /Not animal, person thing? No. Different. Strange. Faraway place. Kill./

 

"You must let us go," Blake told them, wondering if they would understand. We're people, too, as you are."

 

"Hardly," Avon mocked.

 

"We mean you no harm, but you have hurt my friend. I want to care for his injuries."

 

/Fragile, weak, helpless. Kill, protect, defend./ He was picking up thoughts from several of them at once, and he still didn't know if they could understand him. He'd never been able to project thoughts to Cally, and she could not read his because he was no telepath. Could these beings understand him if he tried it now? Maintaining his position between them and Avon, he concentrated for all he was worth. /I mean you no harm. I only want to protect my friend so we can return to our home. You must not kill us. We are people like you./

 

/Talks. It talks./ That brought stunned response from them. and they edged fractionally closer. /Other not talk. Animal, pet. Strange thing? Friend?/ One of them inched toward him. /Tell what is friend./

 

Maybe he was getting somewhere. /It's someone you care about and try to protect, someone to share with. Someone important to you./

 

Waves of disbelief came at him from all sides. The one closest to him asked simply, /Why?/

 

/Because it's important,/ Blake replied. /It means not being alone, having someone to trust. For safety and protection, but for more than that. Because it makes a person complete./

 

/Weak,/ thoughts came at him. /Foolish. Kill strangers. Waste food, waste warmth. Weak. Not person-thing. Maybe wista spawn... Not kill. Maybe Masters. Maybe ones make us die./

 

/I don't want to make you die,/ Blake returned. /Not unless you threaten us. I will defend us if I have to./

 

"Blake?" Avon struggled into a sitting position. "What are you doing? This is hardly the time to go into a trance."

 

They're telepathic, Avon. I'm trying to communicate with them."

 

"That should prove interesting." He tried to brace himself against the wall, crying out involuntarily when one of his welts brushed the stone.

 

"Let me see what I can do," Blake asked. "Maybe we can clean the acid off and do something for the pain."

 

"In this stone age culture? I wish you luck."

 

Blake turned back to the beings. /1 will not harm you. But you must help my friend. You have damaged him and he is in great pain./

 

/Weak must die./

 

He is not weak. I will not let him die./

 

/Identity?/

 

It took Blake a moment to catch that. /My name is Blake. He's Avon./

 

One of them stepped closer. /Identity Lamak. Not kill immediately. Wait. Prove worth to People. No worth, kill when wista come./

 

/Wista? What's that?/

 

/Danger-thing. Life swallower. Enemy. Kill! Kill! Kill!/

 

Blake didn't know if he meant wista had killed them or that they would kill wista, but it was obviously either a vicious animal or an enemy tribe, and these beings feared and hated it. They were remorseless, but perhaps they'd had to be.

 

/Bring water,/ Blake urged. /1 must help my friend./

 

/Friend? Stupidity!/

 

Avon might agree if he knew what the aliens were insisting. He had long claimed he didn't need friendship, although Blake had long suspected that it wasn't entirely true. He thought Avon held them at a distance to prevent being hurt. But if Avon didn't entirely mean it, these beings did. There was nothing soft about them, not that friendship was soft. They were savage and vicious and Blake didn't trust them an inch. He wondered if they lived on Sarken and had brought him and Avon underground or if the teleport had malfunctioned. Zen and Orac should have been able to detect life forms such as this.

 

Lamak brought a bowl of water. Blake wished he could test it, but he had no equipment, so he had to be satisfied with smelling and tasting it. As far as he could tell, it was plain water, but there could be harmful elements in it. From the sound of Avon's breathing, though, it was bound to be better than what he was going through.

 

Blake began to clean Avon's wounds. The process must have been agonizing because Avon's face drained of color and he bit his lip so hard he drew blood. Blake's fingers burned as he worked, and he realized that even the residue of the secretions hurt. If it felt this way diluted, how must it feel to Avon at full strength?

 

It took three bowls of water to relax Avon's muscles, and even then he was still in pain. Blake summoned Lamak back and demanded medication. At first, he got a blank stare but, as he elaborated, one of the females brought a smaller bowl containing a white paste. By dint of gestures and frustrating telepathy, Blake realized Lamak's people used it for burns and, with cautious reluctance, Blake began to apply it to one of the blistered welts on Avon's chest. At the touch, Avon went utterly rigid, but then he relaxed fractionally. "Continue," he urged.

 

"But it's hurting you, Avon."

 

"Pretend you are a sadist--it should take little effort, " Avon muttered. "It works, once it's on."

 

Blake grimaced as he spread a generous coating of the white stuff over Avon's wounds, flinching each time Avon did. Lamak and the others crowded around curiously without touching either of them, and Blake sensed blatant disbelief in their attitudes. These people didn't understand caring for each other. They banded together out of survival only.

 

"Where are we, Blake?" Avon demanded as the treatment progressed. "Far be it for me to complain, but this does not resemble Vila's tropical paradise."

 

"I don't know, Avon. Underground. How long were you awake before me?"

 

"Unfortunately, the first thing I remember is them. They did little more than kick you when they felt like it. What is it? Do they have poison sacs there?"

 

Blake had been trying not to think of that. He touched Avon's forehead to test for fever. "You're too hot, but I think it would be worse if it had been poison. It's more like acid. Painful, but not fatal."

 

"I appreciate your optimism and I bow to your superior medical knowledge." Avon glared at him. "What went wrong, Blake?"

 

"Don't you think I want to know that, too? The others will search for us. We still have our bracelets." He had tried his before he used the ointment, but there had been no response.

 

"This was unlike any previous malfunction," Avon retorted. "There was no evidence of problems before we teleported, and the others reached the planet safely. Either we were put down in the wrong place or we had the misfortune to land near these things. In either case, I have far less faith in rescue than you seem to." He shivered suddenly, his whole body quivering.

 

"Are you cold?" Blake asked in alarm. He had nothing with which to treat shock.

 

Avon threw him a scornful glance and didn't deign to reply.

 

Blake heaved a sigh and plunged into communication with Lamak again, demanding blankets. If nothing else, he could keep Avon warm. The demand produced more disbelief. Apparently they did not so cosset themselves. But Blake persisted and, eventually, one of the females approached, carrying several of their wrap-around skirts. At least, they were clean. So Blake wrapped Avon in them, then, as shudders continued to wrack him, Blake pulled Avon into his arms and held him carefully, prepared to warm him with his own body heat.

 

Avon's muscles tensed but whether it was distaste at the proximity, disgust at his weakness, or simply pain Blake couldn't tell. When Avon dropped his head against Blake's shoulder, he suspected the latter. Even Avon would not reject survival, although Blake suspected he would insist upon more distance between them than usual when he recovered.

 

Avon said icily into his ear, "And just how do you intend to prevent these savages from simply killing us whilst we sleep?"

 

"I'll stand guard, Avon," Blake replied, ignoring the gauntlet Avon had flung down.

 

"And when  _you_  fall asleep?"

 

"I think are captors are curious," Blake said hopefully. He knew Avon wouldn't accept it, but perhaps rousing Avon's spite would make him angry enough to fight. Adrenalin was a basic human response to a crisis. Blake only knew a little about medical problems. Cally's experience as a part-time field medic had caused her to be deputized  _Liberator's_  chief medical staffer, a post she accepted with typical Auron equanimity, but which left Blake ill-prepared to care for Avon now. He would do his best, but clearly he would get little help from Lamak's people, who probably took the weak away from the camp to die. "Curious?" Avon echoed with bitter disbelief. " _Curious_! If that is to be your epitaph, Blake, I want no part of it. 'Killed by curiosity.' It suits you."

 

"It doesn't suit me to die here, Avon." Blake let his voice sharpen. He couldn't maintain his anger against Avon when he was hurt so badly, although if anyone managed to irritate him in such a situation, it would be Avon. Looking at the dark head bowed against his shoulder, Blake felt a fiercely protective urge that shocked him in its intensity. Adversity did that, and protectiveness toward his crew, which had strengthened since Gan's death. But in spite of Avon's annoying way of pointing out all his faults and his knack for being unpleasantly right more often than Blake liked to think about, he had felt drawn to Avon from the first. He wouldn't lose him to this.

 

"Then by all means avoid it." Avon said skeptically. "I would like to see how you manage to convince these.. creatures.. not to kill us."

 

Blake would like to see it too, but at least they weren't actively hostile now. If it came down to an attack, they'd probably lose anyway, so he could do no more than he's already done. "I'll do whatever's necessary, Avon," he returned sharply.

 

"For what that is worth." Avon shivered again and, in spite of his skepticism and resentment, he didn't pull away when Blake wrapped the makeshift blankets more tightly around him.

 

It was one of the worst nights Blake had ever spent. The ointment he'd used on Avon's wounds was only effective a few hours, then Avon came awake in savage pain and Blake called for the stuff and applied it all over again. It had to be repeated twice more through the night, but when morning came, pale light filtering in through an opening partially covered with branches, the worst of it seemed over. Avon was feverish and uncomfortable and winced at the slightest movement, but he was well enough to draw away from Blake with a hint of defiance. If he could do that, he was probably starting to recover, and Blake, completely exhausted, wore himself out still further by plunging into mental contact with Lamak, who appeared to be the group's spokesman.

 

/I'm going to sleep now. I should warn you that, even injured, Avon is more of a threat to you than I am./

 

/Avon? Identity?/ Lamak pointed to Avon, who watched through narrowed eyes, his body poise4d to defend himself if necessary.

 

/Yes. Your people hurt him and he's not very forgiving, so I'd be careful around him./

 

Lamak was silent for a long time, trying to make sense out of Blake's communication, then he asked, /Avon danger?/

 

Blake couldn't help smiling a little. /That he is./

 

/No hurt,/ Lamak promised. Blake had the feeling he could trust him about as far as he could throw the  _Liberator_ , but he had no choice but to repeat it to Avon.

 

"I would feel better, Blake, if they would return my gun," Avon responded.

 

"So would I."

 

But there was no trace of their weapons, and Blake didn't know how much longer he could remain awake. His bruises had stiffened while he'd held Avon to keep him warm, but even that didn't stop him from stretching out on the floor and falling asleep the moment his eyes closed.

 

* * * * *

 

 

 _This is a fine mess you've got us into this time, Blake_ , Avon thought as he watched him sleeping. Dividing his attention between Blake, the hostile primitives who watched relentlessly from the edge of the campfire, and the cave itself, Avon was surprised to discover how much he missed the  _Liberator_. Not that he would say so to Blake. The man was insufferable enough already, always demanding more from Avon than Avon was prepared to give, expecting him to follow his cause, which Avon saw as nothing more than an exercise in futility. He had no faith in the human spirit, even if Blake seemed to believe in it. He wanted no part of it either. But instead of being a weak, sentimental fool, Blake was a hard, sentimental fool, and Avon still experienced moments of disbelief as he watched Blake pick a careful path amid the pitfalls of his benevolence and his fanaticism.

 

The others he dismissed without further thought, although he wondered if they were searching for them. Compared to the green-skinned beings who had tortured him, even Vila might seem good company, though he would never tell the thief. Cally's telepathy, which he had sometimes resented, feeling it gave her an unfair advantage over him, was a model of restraint and clarity compared to the seething chaos of illogic, superstition and violence that comprised the alien's communication. He resented the need to communicate with them, but it became essential as the morning wore on and the save lost its effectiveness. He asked for more and applied it awkwardly, feeling the tightness ease from his muscles as the pain withdrew. This time, he could see the welts and blisters were beginning to heal. The white goo was remarkably effective; each time he used it, it lasted longer. The remainder of it went on Blake's fingers, which had been blistered when he had first cleaned Avon's wounds. Blake didn't stir which was probably just as well.

 

What annoyed Avon almost as much as the torture was that he could not legitimately blame Blake for it. They had not been captured during one of Blake's futile missions against the Federation, and the teleport had been controlled by Orac rather than by a fallible human crew member. That Orac was not perfect had been amply proven during the foolhardy attempt to recruit the Terra Nostra against the Federation. but he had compensated for that and had watched Orac carefully since then. The fault did not seem to be there. If there was no fault, if the bastards lived undiscovered beneath the surface of Sarken, there was a chance they would be found eventually. Or not at all.

 

Avon was not an optimist. With Orac, Zen, and the  _Liberator_ , they stood a chance at rescue, but he was not sanguine about it. The thought of being trapped in the stone age disgusted him, and it might have helped his temper to throw it in Blake's face, but he could see no way to blame Blake except that Blake had insisted he take shore leave. Avon knew if he had refused, Blake would have let him alone. He knew, too, that he had actually wanted to come down to the planet, even thought outdoor recreation was not his forte. A mistake. But suffering pain and discomfort for no reason found no favor with him, and his resentment grew, against Blake for simply being there and witnessing his weakness, against Vila, who had dreamed up the idiotic idea in the first place, against Orac, who had failed to teleport them properly or not to notice the presence of hostile natives on Sarken. Since he didn't know which was the case, for both.

 

/Hunger?/

 

The question startled him, and he saw one of the females offering a pot of something with a pungent smell and the consistency of mud. Feverish as he was, Avon had little appetite, especially for something like that, and for all he knew, it could have the same effect on him as the aliens' touch. He tried to question that, reminding them that their touch had hurt and asking the contents of the meal.

 

Their leader came forward. /Plant food,/ he sent to Avon. /No touch. Wash, grind with rocks, heat. Nourishment. Eat. No food, weak. Weak must die. /

 

Well, that was clear enough. Avon took the bowl resentfully, observing that no utensils were provided. The others were eating from a communal bowl but they must have prepared his separately, realizing it would be poisoned if they touched it. Sourly, Avon scooped up a lump of it with his fingers and put it in his mouth. It tasted sour and unpleasant, but it didn't burn, so he swallowed it cautiously, pausing to see if it would cause a reaction. When nothing happened, he ate a little more. It might make him ill, but starvation was not an appealing alternative.

 

He forced himself to eat half of it then set the remainder aside for Blake. The others looked surprised, and Lamak asked, /Why?/

 

"Why do I give him food?" Avon asked aloud, thinking the question as he spoke. He felt compelled to preserve Blake's life, not out of fondness but simply to avoid being left alone among these savages. He didn't trust them. He didn't want to trust Blake either, but he had long since worked out the limitations in which he could, and that made him safe, at least in comparison to Lamak's band.

 

/Friend?/ Lamak asked scornfully.

 

"No, I don't think that is why," Avon said aloud, then he shook his head. /Survival,/ he replied, /I need others of my species to ensure survival. /

 

Lamak almost beamed at that; it was a close as any of them had come to a smile, and it was curiously grotesque on that round, hairless face. Avon had a sudden disquieting picture of Blake trying to civilize these people. If there was any justice in the universe, which there probably wasn't, they would be rescued before it came to that.

 

/You--threat to us?/ Lamak asked. /Blake identity give warning. /

 

/Blake was right,/ Avon responded. /I am a threat to you. /

 

Lamak backed off, watching Avon through narrowed cat-eyes, chittering to the others in their language for almost five minutes. Avon would have been unsurprised if they had come at him in a body; they could have killed him easily had they done so. But they didn't. Instead, they went back to their food, then most of them picked up primitive spears and pushed past the overhanging branches to go outside.

 

Avon shivered into his blankets again and waited for Blake to wake up.

 

The food didn't disagree with him, so when Blake woke a good ten hours later Avon offered him some. He'd asked if there would be more, and assure there would, he had forced himself to finish the original offering. It tasted no better. When he was fit, he might try to find something more edible.

 

Blake stretched and sat up stiffly, rubbing his side. When Avon offered him the bowl, Blake looked at it with revulsion. "What  _is_  it?"

 

Avon smirked. "Dinner. Enjoy it. "

 

" _Enjoy_  it? No one could enjoy it. "He glance around, almost at a loss. "I don't suppose they know about forks. "

 

"They use the finger method. "Avon watched Blake take a cautious bite and grimace in disgust. But a quick glance around the cave proved that it was the only food going, and he ate it all. Setting aside the bowl with relief, he tried his bracelet, disappointment flashing across his face when there was no response.

 

"They aren't coming," Avon announced pointedly. The longer they stayed here, the greater was his need to blame someone for their exile, and Blake was handy. "I should have know better than to stay with you. "

 

"Then why did you, Avon?" Blake snapped back. He had always been able to hold his own against the other man. If nothing else, Avon could respect someone who gave as good as he got, although he resented Blake for it.

 

"I wanted the  _Liberator_ ," he responded coolly. "It wasn't worth this. "

 

"It's only been a day, Avon. The others will find us. "

 

"Believe it if you will. "Avon saw some of the natives move around the fire and stiffened slightly. The memory of them wrestling him to the ground when he had tried to stop them kicking Blake made him shiver. Their rapacious exploration of his body had frightened him, just as his inability to stop them did. He had downed a few of them before he was overwhelmed by pain and sheer numbers, but they hadn't been intimidated. Now as they bunched around watching, Avon knew they could attack again in an instant, and he resented being made to fear them. If only he had his gun.

 

Blake followed his eyes, then he initiated communications with them. Avon would hear their responses so he said, "Speak out loud, Blake. I want to know what kind of trouble you're getting us into now. "

 

"I'm only asking about them, Avon. There wasn't time before. "

 

"Do we care?"

 

"I care because the more we know about them the better our chances are for survival. "

 

"Try slim to none. "

 

"I'm going to try understanding them," Blake shot back. "You might do the same I'm not expecting you to like it, but I don't want you hurting our chances either. "

 

"As my leader commands," hissed Avon through tight lips.

 

Blake made little progress that day. As the little green creatures returned from their hunting and huddled round the fire, squabbling over their portion of the food in the communal pot, they answered some of Blake's questions. As near as Avon could tell, it was not much of a story. The natives were called Greens, a singularly stupid name to Avon's way of thinking. They lived in caves on the Top of the World, whatever that meant, and hunted for their food, supplementing it with the disgusting brown stuff when they couldn't get enough meat. When Blake asked about the meat, one of them produced a small, struggling lizard from a bag. As they watched, nauseated, he stunned it with his finger acid, twisted its head off, drank its blood, then opened it with a knife and ate its insides. It was all Avon could do to keep from retching, and even Blake looked pale and declined more food after that.

 

Life was hard for the Greens, and 'survival of the fittest' was their creed. Sickly babies were left outdoors to die, and adults who couldn't hunt were sometimes killed by the others and sometimes abandoned for the wista. Avon didn't quite understand what the wista was, but it was terrifying to the Greens. When the wista came, they fled or sought shelter, and to hell with anyone left behind. Avon saw Blake's frown and suspected that before long the Greens would be exposed to a course in Roj Blake's Social Reform. Wonderful. It only needed that.

 

* * * * *

 

 

It took Avon's wounds three days to heal and, for the first two of them, he was feverish and bad tempered, snapping at Blake whenever he tried to help him. As the welts healed over, Avon's fever went down, but his temper didn't noticeably improve. Blake found himself snapping back more than he intended to. Even more irritating, Avon didn't seem surprised at his bad temper, as if it confirmed a theory of his own. When Blake confronted him with it, Avon smiled sardonically. "It is as I have long suspected, Blake. Civilization is a thin crust over most people's savagery. Take away a few of their creature comforts and the real man show through."

 

Blake couldn't even retaliate for Avon would have taken it as proof. "You forget one thing, Avon," he replied instead. "Civilized men have a choice. The Greens don't know any better."

 

"So savages have something civilized men don't."

 

"And what's that, Avon?" Blake demanded tartly.

 

"Honesty. They wear no false fronts."

 

"You want honesty, Avon? Then I'll tell you I'm sick of your complaints but that I'll endure them wile you're ill. Once you're well, I'll try to find civilization and escape from here. I'll need your help for that. Surely someone with your intelligence should recognize that complaining in a life and death situation only makes things worse."

 

"Or make them bearable," Avon countered. "Escape from here, Blake? You are itching to wade in and tamper with this society. Admit it. It challenges you."

 

"It might challenge me," Blake responded with asperity. "But I'm not altruistic enough to want to live here one moment more than I must. If you think I can do something change them without help, you overestimate my powers."

 

"Well now, I thought you could do anything, Blake. I must say I am disappointed."

 

"Our first priority is to get back to civilization, Avon. Do you disagree?"

 

"Of course not. I am, however, skeptical of our potential for success."

 

"I'm used to that," Blake replied. "Off with your shirt so I can check your healing. I don't think you'll need much more of the ointment."

 

Avon eased himself out of the shirt. Only a few of the deepest wounds hadn't healed over, and Blake daubed them with the white stuff because they were in an awkward place. This close to healing, the pain of application was bearable and Avon didn't flinch. His eyes closed in appreciation of the medication. "If I have any say in the matter, we must take that back with us for analysis."

 

"I quite agree, Avon."

 

"If we can duplicate it, then we can sell it to the Federation."

 

"Must everything have a profit, Avon?"

 

"What would be the point otherwise?"

 

"I'd give a lot to know if you meant that."

 

"How much would you give?" Avon asked, and for a moment, Blake thought he saw amusement dancing in the other man's eyes.

 

"I'd give my next three meals," offered Blake, grinning in response. Avon cocked an eyebrow at him and, for the moment, they were in harmony.

 

It didn't last, of course. By the end of the third day, although Avon had regained most of his strength and was well enough to venture out of the cave, he had not regained any kind of good humor. They stood outside the cave mouth studying the view without enthusiasm. The cave opened onto a vast plain dotted with small, yellow-leaved trees and mud-green grasses. Here and there, a hill such as the one in which the cave was located lifted above the level monotony, but the hills looked like afterthoughts, dotted about with such regularity that Blake was surprised. Could this land be terraformed? If so, why would anyone wish to create something so unappealing?

 

Off to one side, the ground slopped up like the lip of a shallow bowl, and Blake set off in that direction, slowing his steps to allow for Avon's light weakness. He didn't invite the other man to come, but he was unsurprised when Avon fell in beside him. Avon loathed and feared the natives and would not stay alone among them, although they had made no threatening moves since the first night.

 

When they reached the lip of the ground, Blake came to a dead halt, staring in dismay and wonder, and he heard Avon draw a sharp breath beside him. It was as if they had come to the end of the world. Below them stretched a cliff of impossible height, so high that clouds spread below them, hiding everything but a few granite spires close at hand that once must have been part of the original plateau. Some titanic upheaval had shot this plateau so far into the air that short of a flyer, mountaineering equipment or a teleport, there was no hope of finding the bottom.

 

"The top of the world," said Avon in a wondering voice.

 

"What?" Blake looked at him sharply.

 

"Isn't that what Lamak said the other night? That they lived on the Top of the World? We'll never climb down there, Blake. There was nothing like this on Sarken, nothing at all. Orac would have reported such an incredible geographical feature. We're not on Sarken."

 

"I never thought we were. And you didn't either. Don't tell me you're guilty of hope, Avon?"

 

"Don't tell me you're guilty of stupidity," Avon shot back, "though I know you are. If we were going to be found, we would have been found before now."

 

"Yet you wouldn't take it without proof. Maybe that's a backward kind of hope, Avon, but it is hope."

 

"Which accomplishes precisely nothing." Avon turned from the cliff face. "How do these people live here, Blake? Why did they evolve here? Why are there so few of them, and no children older than two or three?"

 

"I think they must have been brought here from somewhere else," Blake replied. "Seeded here maybe?"

 

"By whom?" Avon asked skeptically. "For what purpose? They will surely die out soon. There are too few of them for a viable colony."

 

"We don't know how may of them there are," Blake reminded him. "This plateau stretches for miles and miles."

 

"Assuming each hill contains a settlement and each settlement contains a hundred people, there are still too few of them to survive, not the way they live. There is no system, no organization. They spend their lives so cheaply. Soon they will die out."

 

"And us with them, Avon? We're trapped here until help comes. We might as well make the best of it."

 

"I thought I should be hearing something like that before very long," Avon replied scornfully. "Leave it, Blake. At best, you will accomplish precisely nothing. At worst, they'll kill you."

 

"Why should you care?"

 

"What makes you think I do?"

 

"Because if you didn't, you wouldn't take such relish in pointing out to me how easy it is for me to fail."

 

"Ah yes," Avon responded, smiling a little. "Logic? Your brand of it, at any rate. I should have known we'd see some facsimile of it before too long." He shook his head and started to walk away in a slightly different direction from the camp.

 

"Where are you going. Avon?" Blake called after him.

 

"Someplace where I can be alone."

 

* * * * *

 

 

The next few weeks were pure hell. Avon returned before dark and took his place at the side of the fire, but he was remote and untouchable and, if Blake hadn't felt the weight of depression at the thought of being stranded here for life, he night have been angry at Avon for leaving the burden of their survival to him.

 

But he knew how Avon must be feeling. Avon was a civilized man who preferred his creature comforts. Blake doubted he had ever held a gun before his attempt to rob the Federation Banking System. He had lived a sheltered life, full of Alpha privilege. Blake knew what that was like. He had experienced it himself, although his time in the Freedom Party had shown him another side of life. If they had to stay here long, Blake could endure it better than Avon could, and he might find satisfaction in trying to humanize the Greens. He would loathe it too, but he was slightly better equipped for it than Avon was. There was nothing here for Avon, nothing except Blake himself, and Blake did not delude himself that Avon would consider that anything but another disadvantage. There were times when Avon seemed to like him--as much as he could like anyone. Given the right circumstances, Blake would--and had--trusted Avon with his life; Avon had come back a time or two when he could have legitimately run, and he could count upon Avon in a crisis, though Avon always weaseled out of any accusations of commitment. But none of that could make up to either of them what they would lose if they were trapped here permanently.

 

Each night around the campfire, Blake paid their way by telling stories to the Greens. At first, he and Avon had done poorly at hunting. They weren't used to spears and sticks as weapons, and all their persuasion could not force the Greens to return their guns. So after a day spent in futile attempts to spear lizards or the furry mammals that lived on the plateau, or in harvesting grasses and tubers to make mash, sarcastically dubbed 'sludge' by Avon, Blake felt compelled to do something about it. He did it by telling stories.

 

He kept them simple at first since the Greens were struggling with so many unfamiliar concepts. Each day, communication became easier and by the end of a few weeks, the Greens could even speak a few words of Terran. Avon, of course, refused to learn the Greens' language, though Blake picked up a little of it. It was a simple language, almost artificial in feel, and it wasn't difficult to learn, though it was too basic to express much beyond rudimentary needs. As the telepathic communication flew between him and Lamak, who seemed to be the headman, it grew easier to understand each other, the Greens began to switch to word patterns and sentence structures that were easier for the two humans to grasp.

 

Avon, sullen and unapproachable, did little more than scoff at Blake when he began the 'story hour,' as Avon mockingly called it. But even he, for all his resentment, would listen, too. Blake had read the Bible and the Greens found the Bible stories interesting, though Avon scoffed at them. Next Blake related various myths and legends of Earth, hoping the Greens would retaliate with an origin myth of their own. He remembered their reference to the Masters, but no amount of prodding had been able to budge them on that subject since. As he spoke of ancient Earth mythology, the Greens gathered around him like vicious children, soaking up his every word. They were not stupid, the Greens. They learned as voraciously as they hunted, and they remembered his stories. Once or twice, he had heard them retelling them to the people of other caverns, and after that, the campfire group was after augmented with visitors each night who stood, spear in hand, near the door, listening. Their own group appeared to resent them and would make threatening motions with their own spears but, as long as the visitors stayed in the background, they were allowed to stay.

 

Blake worked his way through all the mythology he could remember, surprised when Avon threw in a laconic word or two when Blake forgot something. Though still holding his distance, Avon listened to the tales, too, and proved he knew as much of the forbidden mythology as Blake did.

 

Even though the Greens were interested in what Blake told them, they didn't quite grasp the possibility that there could be parallels between Blake's stories and their own lives. They had never questioned Blake's and Avon's presence here. Once Blake had tried to explain that they had come from the stars only to be met with skepticism and disbelief. Avon chuckled sarcastically. "Just as useful as explaining particle physics to Vila," he commented.

 

The mention of Vila recalled the others to Blake's mind with sudden and painful clarity and he was sorry Avon had spoken. He missed the  _Liberator_  and the others with every fiber of his being. Things had not always been ideal there, but at least there had been companionship and, occasionally, shared laughter. Here there was the savagery of the Greens and Avon's sullen silences. Blake felt truly isolated as he had never done in his life. At that moment, everything seemed hopeless.

 

Avon had never been a particularly sentimental or perceptive man where feelings were involved, but perhaps the isolation and loneliness had affected him too, because he suddenly leaned closer to Blake. "That was rather foolish," he muttered with a depreciating smile. "It's pointless to mention the others."

 

"No, Avon." Blake realized Avon meant it as an apology. "Maybe we  _should_  think about them. Maybe we need to remember."

 

"After a day spend spearing kvelits and eating lizards raw?" Avon asked scornfully. "What would you have us do, Blake? Dress for dinner?"

 

"We have to retain our civilization, Avon."

 

"Do we? Why?"

 

"Because I will not become as the Greens. I said before that I have a choice."

 

"And I reminded you it was only a façade, Blake."

 

"I don't accept that, Avon. Dressing for dinner isn't the answer, but we have to retain our civilization, even if we do it dressed like the Greens and eating lizards raw. It would be all to easy to yield and become savages too, but I won't do it. I'm not ready to yield!"

 

"Lizards don't appeal to me," Avon returned, "But survival matters, Blake. I intend to survive, even here."

 

"I intend to survive too, Avon, but I prefer to survive with some kind of dignity."

 

/Blake-teacher, what means dignity?/

 

It was Lamak, listening to them with an intelligent gleam in his eyes. He had been quick to pick up some Terran, but this was mental, where he could be clearer. Since adjusting to Terran sentence structure, communication was much easier as long as it was confined to the concrete. During the past few weeks, Avon and Blake had learned to shape the mental communication when they spoke in the presence of the Greens, and they must have done it automatically during their discussion.

 

"Yes, Blake-teacher," Avon mocked. "Tell him what dignity means." He looked at Blake pointedly. Both of them were unshaven and had shed shirts in concession to the hot season. Neither was particularly clean, the spring being too small for proper bathing, and they sat around a campfire talking to savages about legends. Avon could see no dignity in their situation, but then Avon was no idealist, and he might choose to argue against Blake for the sake of the argument.

 

Idealist though he might be, Blake could understand Avon's point this time, but he said sharply, "I don't know about you, Avon, but I won't yield my self-respect even here. If we must live like this to survive, then we will, but we can be much more and we can teach the Greens what we know."

 

"That should prove interesting." Avon's voice was scornful. "There is no thought between the desire and the action here. Survival is a convincing teacher, Blake, and all your pretty stories will not change the fact that the most important thing of each day is putting meat on the table--or sludge," he added with disgust.

 

/Avon-danger not accept dignity?/ Lamak asked, nodding to himself. He turned and made a comment to his people before turning to observe Avon. /Avon-danger strong, survives. Dignity put no food on table./

 

"Dignity," Avon said pedantically, "is self-respect. It is maintaining oneself like--like Blake-teacher," he added with malice. "It is not merely living, but living well."

 

"With wealth and power, Avon?" Blake asked for Avon alone.

 

Avon shot a reproachful glance at Blake, then suddenly he smiled. "Either that or I must use you as an example, 0 mighty leader."

 

Blake laughed out loud. "No necessarily, Avon. Lamak, do you know what honor is?"

 

/Masters once talk of honor,/ Lamak returned, then he looked like he wanted to take the words back. /Honor, stupidity./

 

"Not necessarily. Though you won't understand it when your survival is so precarious, honor is necessary for civilized men."

 

"Perhaps," Avon said viciously to Blake, "it is necessary for men like you to fight the Federation. The human condition is essentially free of honor."

 

"Is it, Avon? Then why do you never break your word?"

 

Disconcerted, Avon dropped his eyes. For a moment, he didn't reply, then he said, "In the end, one's word is all there is to count on."

 

That was more than Blake had expected, but the Greens didn't understand. Blake turned back to them. "Honor is following a set of self-imposed rules that are determined to be right. What sort of rules do your people have, Lamak?"

 

/Rules? Simple, necessary. Feed babies first. Always guard caverns, never leave Top of World. Hide when moons full. Kill to eat. Run from wista./

 

"If they don't do those things, they die, Blake," Avon insinuated smoothly. "Ethics always follows pragmatism in the list of essentials.

 

"Then why did you stop the Big Hill people from trying to kill me yesterday?"

 

Avon looked taken aback. Then he said quickly, "Also for survival, Blake. Without another human being, even you, this place would be insupportable."

 

"For whatever your reasons, thank you, Avon."

 

/Avon-danger make survival more important than honor, Blake-teacher?/

 

Blake shook his head, then remembered the Greens' sign of negation was to lift the spearhand and hold it parallel to the ground, so he did that. "No, Lamak. Avon-danger believes it is safer to say so, but he has honor too."

 

/Not understanding./

 

"Likewise, Blake," Avon replied.

 

"Let me try a different method then. Lamak, if you and Dannal were hunting together and Dannal fell in a deep pit, what would you do?"

 

/Return to cave, eat dead-meal with tribe./

 

"You wouldn't think to try to save Dannal from the pit?"

 

/Wista underground./

 

"And that is a major threat. Blake," Avon returned.

 

Blake persisted. "If Lamak left you in the pit and ran away, what would you do?"

 

"Try to climb out." Dannal was the quickest with the Terran language, and he had attached himself to Avon from the beginning, chatting at him and following him about, to Avon's obvious discomfiture.

 

"You wouldn't be angry at Lamak?"

 

Dannal looked at Lamak in surprise. "Why?"

 

"You see, Blake. You have your work cut out for you. I would be astonished if you could change one thing about them."

 

"Would you, Avon? Look at them now. Sitting and talking. They have to think to listen to me, even if they don't get it all. And they defend us from other tribes."

 

"Our presence here gives them something that other tribes don't have. Just so would they guard their food supply or their loom or their cooking pots. They don't conceptualize the idea, but we're slaves, Blake."

 

"Slavery is a state of mind."

 

"Is it indeed? Then the great, suppressant-laden rabble you are trying to save are really free if they believe it? Being here had addled your brain, Blake. You are losing what little sense you ever had."

 

"If you believe you are a slave here, Avon, then you are one," insisted Blake angrily. "We do nothing more than the Greens do to survive. They don't make us hunt."

 

"No, you do that. Ah. I see. I am your slave."

 

"Even you don't believe that."

 

Avon smiled unexpectedly. "No, I don't believe that. However, you do have an annoying way of getting what you want, Blake, and I am tired of it. Teach the Greens self-respect if you must, but leave me out of it."

 

"As you say, Avon." He returned to Dannal. "If Lamak left you in the pit for the wista, wouldn't you be angry at him?"

 

"That way it is. Dannal do same."

 

"Maybe several of you together could defeat the wista."

 

That brought silence. Plainly the idea had never occurred to them, though they sometimes hunted in masse when they stalked kvelits for the pot. But then kvelits were as harmless as rabbits. If the Greens could work cooperatively though to kill kvelits, driving them toward the spearmen in unison, why couldn't they take it one step further and use it to defeat the wista?

 

/You not see wista,/ Rella, one of the females, told Blake. /All run before wista./

 

"We haven't seen the wista since we got here." Blake pointed out.

 

/Moons not full./ Lamak reminded him. /Wista come when moons full./

 

Blake could get them to say no more about the wista after that, and further talk of ethics seemed pointless too. Instead, he returned to his story and the Greens appeared relieved. So did Avon, but that wasn't surprising. Blake smiled to himself, watching Avon out of the corner of his eye. Although he despised both the situation and the Greens, he was listening for all he was worth. Blake sighed. What else was there to do?

 

* * * * *

 

 

A week later, the night guards woke everyone before the sun rose and the Greens began to bustle about as if it were a special occasion. Blake and Avon, roused too, sat up and looked around in surprise. Was it time for the wista to come? But Rella came up to them and held out bundles of cloth. "For you, new," she said in Terran.

 

Avon took the bundle as if it might explode. "Now they expect us to dress like them," he muttered in disgust.

 

"At least it's clean, Avon," Blake replied. He didn't relish the idea of running about in a skirt either, but his own clothes had become unpleasantly rank and it might make a nice change. "New clothes?" he asked Rella.

 

/Not now. Wait. After pool./

 

"Pool?"

 

/Today go to pool, wash,/ Dannal offered, grinning broadly. Blake hoped the pool was bigger than the spring. Nothing would please him more than to finally get clean again. Avon, more fastidious, spent more time at the spring than anyone else, but he was never satisfied, and he brightened at the mention of a pool. "How often do we go to the pool?" he asked.

 

"Before every moon," Dannal said carefully in Terran. "If die, clean." That was interesting. Blake wondered why they would feel like that; if it was simply some kind of ritual or if there was an innate need to face death at one's best. He wished it were the latter, but he was fairly sure it wasn't. Likely the pool was simply too far away to go more often. The Greens accepted what could not be changed, as he and Avon were learning to do, though Blake had begun to shave daily with a sharp knife. Avon scoffed at his motives but was quick to follow suit, and the morning which followed the discussion on dignity and ethics, they had discovered a lardlike substance with which to soften their whiskers and make it easier. Avon had washed his tattered shirt several times but cold water was not an ideal cleanser, and when Blake had suggested beating out the dirt with rocks the way the Greens did, Avon looked disgusted. It wasn't long before Blake had discovered him doing it, though, and he claimed it could hardly hurt the shirt.

 

Avon loathed it here, but he was making do. Avon was a survivor.

 

The trip to the pool took several hours, in a direction they had not gone before. It was away from the hostile Big Hill people who seemed to be the plateau's trouble-makers and, as they walked, Blake wondered how such a small population could be so insular. Each cavern was separate and there was little intermingling except for mating purposes. A female might leave one cavern and join another to be with a hunter she fancied, or a man might come to the cavern of a female he wanted, depending on the populations of each. After the newcomer had been there a week or so, the rest of the camp accepted him, just as Avon and Blake had been accepted. There was no deep attachment to the cave where one was born, only a practical one, for survival. Blake regretted that.

 

"What do you expect, Blake?" Avon asked as they hiked toward the distant pool. "These people will never be what you want them to be. You tear yourself up over them for nothing."

 

"If I want to tear myself up, I will," Blake defended himself. "I don't think it's a waste of time. Look at Dannal. He or Lamak may come around eventually. Besides, what else is there to do here but hunt and eat and sleep?"

 

"I see. You're keeping your hand in. In hopes of rescue one day? That's stupid, Blake. If the others were going to find us, they would have done by now. Or is it so habitual that you can't stop, even when your raw material is this primitive? If there were no Greens here, would you try to humanize the kvelits?"

 

"Why should it matter to you, Avon?" Blake returned impatiently. "I'm not trying to make headway with  _you_  after all."

 

"Aren't you? Everything you tell the Greens is aimed right at me. I should warn you that I have even less patience with your ideas here than I did on  _Liberator_."

 

"Then why the concern that I tear myself up over them needlessly, Avon? If it didn't matter, you would never mention it."

 

"Wouldn't I? I have spoken of a great many things I would never nave discussed on the  _Liberator_. As you said, we have nothing else to do."

 

That was true. Blake and Avon had spent one long hunting day discussing their lives back in the domes of Earth. Avon had even reminisced a little about his childhood, his brother, though Blake didn't know if Avon's brother still lived or not. He had listened with far more patience than usual when Blake recalled his family life and his brother and sister, now dead at the hands of the Federation. Blake had believed them safe only to learn the truth from Bran Foster, but parts of his past were not yet entirely clear. Avon, while not effusive, had actually encouraged him to talk about it.

 

Another time, Avon had gone through the steps he might take in order to design a computer like Orac. He talked it through bit by bit, enjoying himself mightily, even Blake's questions and challenges. It was only later, when he was pulled up short by the sight of a party of hunting Greens and reminded that their exile here could be permanent, that he had withdrawn again.

 

Blake enjoyed their talks and encouraged them. The two of them usually hunted apart from the tribes and ate separately too because of the acid in the Greens' fingertips, so they were forced to spend considerable time in each other's company, though Lamak generally delegated several of his people to watch them. But in their hunting excursions, Avon talked, more than he ever had on the ship, and gradually, Blake came to know him better.

 

There were certain taboo subjects; Blake never got him to discuss the events leading to his capture and sentencing to Cygnus Alpha, for instance, and the background of the plot against the Federation Banking System were a closed book, but Avon would reminisce quite cheerfully about his schooling and early work history. The more he talked, the more he revealed to Blake a portrait of a loner who was far more comfortable around computers than he was around people, a man whose social skills had never fully developed because his early brilliance had forced him into intense schooling at an early age, and he had been with people much older than he was from the time he was very young. He had frequently been under Federation observation, not because he was suspected of anything that long ago, but because the Federation wanted to take full advantage of his gifts. As a result, Avon had grown wary of people, reluctant to trust anyone. never knowing who might be a Federation spy. In those days, he had nothing to hide, but cloaking himself had become a habit he might never lose.

 

Even here, away from the others, away from any kind of threat, away from anyone who might betray him, the old instincts still worked, and it was never a surprise to Blake when Avon would suddenly cut off a reminiscence in the middle and withdraw into himself again, changing the subject entirely when he began to speak again.

 

One thing that felt good, if anything could in this savage wilderness, was the closeness beginning to develop between the two of them. It was inevitable, Blake supposed. Stranded here with no other human companionship, either of them, alone, might have welcomed even a Travis. But this was better. Avon's sardonic humor often came to the fore and, if he complained constantly about the lack of amenities, about the company, about Blake's idealistic hopes, he lowered his guard far more than he had on the  _Liberator_. When he wasn't being scornful and argumentative, Avon had proven good company and, the more they talked, the better Blake liked it. He didn't know how Avon felt about him; he never had. Here, away from his cause, away from the others, he didn't feel impatient at Avon's deliberately off-putting actions, and they simply enjoyed each other's company. Avon would probably have claimed that any human would be acceptable and that Blake should not take it to mean anything, but then Avon always said things like that.

 

"We might have nothing to do but eat and sleep and hunt," Blake replied, "but there might be more. I've been talking to every tribesman I meet."

 

"Spreading the word?" Avon asked wryly, glancing at the little green people who marched along with them, carrying spears and clean clothes, with all the excitement of a Delta family on an outing. "I wish you luck."

 

"Not entirely, Avon," Blake replied. "That too, of course. I just can't seem to stop. But I'm looking for a way off this plateau."

 

"Are you indeed? Should there be other life on this planet, we would have seen evidence of it by now. We would have seen flyers or heard distant ships--traces of them at night at least. I do not claim to be familiar with the night sky of every planet in the galaxy, but I recognize nothing here."

 

That doesn't mean anything, Avon." Blake objected. "We might simply be somewhere we've never been before, an unfamiliar sector."

 

"True. But this is not the sky of Sarken. I have long realized we were not there."

 

"How could the teleport have brought us so far away, Avon?"

 

"I don't know. My bracelet seems intact."

 

They had stopped wearing the bracelets to protect them. The hunt was rough and dangerous. and a broken bracelet would guarantee their exile. They took the bracelets out each night when they returned to the cave and tried to contact the ship, though lately Avon had not bothered. Blake had begun to believe it useless too, but he was determined to continue.

 

"We may never know how we got here." Blake went on, "but there could be a small outpost somewhere on this world. It would only take one transmitter to get a message to Orac."

 

"If you wish to engage in futile dreaming, Blake, that is your prerogative, but I have accepted the fact that we are unlikely to return to the ship."

 

Blake sighed inaudibly. "Maybe you're right, but at least allow me the right to try."

 

"Well now, I don't believe I could stop you."

 

With sudden awareness, Blake realized that Avon didn't want to stop him. Although Avon was unlikely to engage in futile hopes, a part of him did hope and, because of that, he wouldn't entirely scorn Blake's actions.

 

"Look, Blake-teacher," Dannal cut in. "Pool. Clean time."

 

They stared, and Blake broke into a grin. Both men had expected a small pool, maybe five or ten feet, across, but this was a lake, maybe a hundred meters wide, with a nice sandy beach around it. The Greens were already racing toward the water with loud whoops, exactly like tourists on a water resort planet, tossing their clothing bundles down on the shore, then plunging into the water, splashing about like human children. Blake grinned broadly as he watched them.

 

Lamak hung back a moment. "Blake-teacher, you, Avon-danger clean there." He pointed down the shore. "Finger-poison not go so far."

 

Blake nodded. "Thanks, Lamak. You go have your swim. Get along now."

 

Lamak bared his teeth in an eerie imitation of a human smile and hurried off eagerly, hitting the water at full tilt and ducking Rella and Sarpy under water as he went.

 

"Enthusiastic, aren't they?" Avon retorted with a grimace.

 

"Come on, Avon, you have to admit it looks like fun."

 

"Does it? I'm not keen on water sports."

 

"Then pretend it's a giant bathtub." Blake moved down the beach, unfastening his clothes as he went. By the time he was stripped and ready, he sensed Avon beside him, and in spite of Avon's avowed dislike of the water, he almost beat Blake in. Blake entered the water at a run, letting out an involuntary shriek at its coldness, then submerging himself completely to emerge dripping, curls hanging down In his eyes. He saw Avon come in fastidiously like a cat, testing it with one toe, gradually sinking into the water until he was waist deep. Blake watched him posed there indecisively, relishing the chance to get clean for once yet uneasy about the water. Blake saw the mildly disgruntled look upon his face, and he couldn't resist another moment. He sank beneath the surface, swam forward a few strokes and pulled Avon under.

 

Avon emerged sputtering, his eyes burning with outrage, water running down his forehead, plastering his hair to his face. He dashed it out of his eyes and then, instead of berating Blake with every invective in the book, his eyes started to twinkle and he lunged at him, grasping him around the waist and ducking him enthusiastically.

 

They popped to the surface simultaneously and spent a vigorous few minutes showering each other with water, sending huge waves and sprays of it at each other, and wrestling each other under. It was wonderfully invigorating, but when they finally separated, panting and laughing, Blake could hardly believe it. Avon? Avon was never given to frivolous play. But Avon's eyes were bright and happy, and he looked contented as he got his breathing under control.

 

By mutual consent, they didn't speak of their frolic. Instead, Blake submerged a minute and came out again, brushing his hair out of his eyes, and began to float on his back, staring up at the sky. In that moment, he was completely content, and he knew Avon shared his contentment. They would return to the caverns and the sludge and lizards, they would be filthy again, but, for now, Blake was happy. He began to whistle under his breath as he lay suspended in the buoyant water.

 

"If I were a vindictive man, you would be in very grave danger in that position," Avon remarked, and Blake rolled over and began to tread water, looking at Avon questioningly.

 

With his hair plastered down on his forehead, water dripping off the end of his nose, Avon looked years younger than his age. His eyes were free of shadows, and his threat had not been serious, though Blake suspected he was relaxed enough to enjoy another romp if the spirit took him. He had never seen this side of Avon before.

 

"I'll risk it, Avon," he replied cheerfully. "Look at the Greens. Like a lot of children on the beach."

 

"I've never been very fond of children," Avon responded promptly, but he said it without provocation or malice. "Vila would like it here," he went on, adding in a tone that Blake could only consider mischievous, "There is something of the child in him."

"Proving your first statement isn't entirely true, Avon," Blake pointed out. "You liked Vila."

 

"When I didn't wish to throttle him."

 

"But you miss him. You'd like to see him again."

 

"To throttle him?" Avon asked. He tried a few awkward strokes that resembled a bastardized breast stroke, keeping his head carefully above water. "At this moment, I am content to be here," he admitted, "though I do not wish to stay. If the  _Liberator_  arrived tomorrow, I would leave with no backward looks and no regret."

 

Blake nodded. "So would I, in spite of the Greens. But I don't want the Federation to find this place. The Greens have potential, but the Federation would destroy it--if not the Greens themselves."

 

"Does it matter, Blake?"

 

"It matters to me. I know they hurt you when we arrived, but they've been very careful not to burn us since then. I don't think it's that we're bigger and stronger than they are; they could easily overpower us with numbers. That's a hopeful sign, Avon. Maybe I'm making progress."

 

"If you say so." Avon pushed off and swam a little distance, pausing every few feet to see if he could still touch the bottom. It was clear he'd never really learned to swim, but he was trying and enjoying the effort.

 

Blake took off after him with swift strokes. "Would you like a swimming lesson, Avon?"

 

"If you feel you must give one, Blake-teacher."

 

After several hours of splashing around and relaxing in the water, Blake noticed the Greens had paddled to the shore and were scouring themselves clean with sand. Pointing it out to Avon, Blake followed suit, and the two of them spent another hour trying to remove the accumulated dirt and grime of their stay. The time spent soaking in the water was the only thing that made it possible. Finally, as clean as they could make themselves, they soaked their clothing and washed it out. Then, back into the water to rinse, off, though this time Avon insisted on practicing swimming instead of water games.

 

Finally, they lay on the beach drying off for another hour in the afternoon sun. By this time, both of them were tanned from their long hours outside and only spread the new clothes from the waist to the knees to prevent sunburn. When they were dry, the sand brushed off easily, and they wrapped the new garments around themselves, Blake struggling not to laugh at the sight of Avon in his new red and green-patterned skirt. An answering twinkle in Avon's eye made him glance down at himself, and he said quickly, "I hope we aren't rescued before our own clothes are dry."

 

"For once, I'm in complete agreement."

 

It was a happily exhausted contingent that returned to camp. Blake broke into song, and the Greens joined in. They hadn't known music before Blake and Avon's arrival, and they loved it. Blake hadn't much opinion of his voice, but Avon had once come upon him when he was singing as he skinned kvelits and, when Blake had fallen silent in some embarrassment, Avon had said diffidently, "You needn't stop on my account, Blake." coming from Avon, that was high praise. Untrained as they were, the Greens loved everything he sang. They learned each song by rote, although they hadn't a clue to the meaning, and now they joined in with their high pitched, scratchy voices. It was only when Avon grimaced and rolled his eyes that Blake realized he was singing the Federation Marching Song.

 

* * * * *

 

 

Avon knew he would never like it here on the Top of the World with the Greens, but there were moments when the place was actually bearable. A faint smile curled his lips as he remembered the trip to the pool. Even on a primitive world, trapped with only Blake for civilized company, that had been a good day. He couldn't say why he had enjoyed it so much; he was not accustomed to such frivolity. Neither was he accustomed to taking his pleasure in the company of primitives or relaxing with Roj Blake.

 

He shook his head in unexpectedly tolerant amusement. Though he hated this place and though Blake had always irritated him as much as he drew him, Avon discovered he could actually enjoy it here at times. While he would be infinitely grateful if the impossible happened and rescue came, even in the form of the  _Liberator_  crew, he would regret losing the more relaxed atmosphere here. He would exchange it for civilization in a moment, but Blake was an unexpectedly tolerable companion.

 

Avon grimaced. He didn't want to tolerate Blake. He wanted to hold Blake at his usual distance--or did he? He had done so at first, even when Blake tended his injuries but, as time passed, the distance between them had narrowed enough to ignore it completely. And that was not right.

 

Or was it? Why not? Why shouldn't he permit Blake closer to him here and now? No one would find them here. Wherever this was, and Avon believed it was out of normal space entirely--had they teleported through a time warp?--the others weren't going to find them. There would be no raised brows, no tedious questions, no attempts at humor, because no one would know if he and Blake were friends here. There was no Federation, no 'cause' more threatening than civilizing the Greens. He doubted Blake could do it, but if there was a chance of altering their primitive behavior, Avon was all for it.

 

That wasn't the problem, though. Blake was a compelling man and, while Avon had long scorned his cause for the futility that it was, he had never quite scorned Blake himself. The man, if not the cause, might be worth following, although Avon didn't care to take such reckless chances. He had backed Blake because Blake had the  _Liberator_ , because Blake had the strength to stand up to him, because there was safety in numbers, because, in spite of all reason to the contrary, he actually liked him. He didn't want to like him, and he had refused to admit it, even to himself. Here in this place, it was an easier admission. He knew enough of losses to want no more of them, and Blake was just the type to get himself killed with some stupid heroics. Liking Blake was an exercise in futility and Avon wanted no part of it.

 

Dealing with Blake more closely here was entirely different. It was necessary for his sanity in this mud-and-spear culture. Survival required some degree of companionship. Blake was here and he was available and willing to be friendly. Blake would accept what Avon chose to give. Blake might even take it as a sign of friendship, but that would be Blake's mistake.

 

Where was Blake now? He had been out earlier teaching Lamak and Dannal how to make a bow and arrows. Those two, the smartest of the Greens, had been enchanted with the idea, and a practice session that morning had led to nothing more serious than a few flesh wounds. One mental giant had put an arrow through his foot, to the raucous amusement and scorn of his compatriots, although Rella, who was starting to show a disgusting amount of sentiment after exposure to Blake, had rushed out to bandage him, and the others had glanced uneasily at Blake before carrying him into the cave. Since their arrival, wounded hunters were no longer left to die. Instead, Blake insisted on healing them and, when Lamak had complained that they should not be fed since they did not hunt, Blake had replied that he would hunt for them. That was probably where he was now, Avon realized, hunting extra food for Joll. He cast a sour look at Joll who sat across the cave skinning a kvelit, his bandaged foot propped before him like a trophy.

 

Suddenly Dannal burst into the cavern babbling. The others gathered round him, chattering in their own language while the air of despair and worry settled like a cloud. Discarding that melodramatic bit in imagery, Avon set aside the kvelit pelt he had been tanning and strode over to join them. "What's wrong?" he demanded harshly.

 

Moons full, Avon-danger," Dannal informed him. "Moons full, wista come."

 

"Marvelous," Avon replied unenthusiastically. He had never cared for the sound of the wista, though he had an idea the Greens overreacted to the threat and feared it because they didn't have the common sense to hunt collectively. That sounded like something Blake would have said, and Avon grimaced at the idea. Then he thought of something and he glanced around impatiently. "Where is Blake-teacher?" he asked Dannal, grabbing him by the shoulder and shaking him slightly.

 

"Blake-teacher not here?" Dannal looked round in surprise. The others all had to comment on that, and Lamak strode into their midst. "Who see Blake-teacher last?" he questioned.

 

Most of the Greens could manage a form of pidgin Terran by now and every one of them, even those who couldn't, replied eagerly. The end result was that no one had seen Blake after anyone else, and Blake was outside where the wista could find him.

 

"When does the wista come?" Avon queried impatiently, frustrated by their foolish chatter.

 

"When moons full," Lamak repeated with exaggerated patience as if Avon were a slow child. "Moons full now. Blake-teacher lost."

 

"You don't know Blake-teacher very well if you believe that," Avon retorted, picking up his spear and a bow and arrows. "Well?" he demanded impatiently, looking around the room. "What are you waiting for? Let's go fetch Blake-teacher back."

 

No one moved. Lamak said stubbornly. "Wista come."

 

"Does it indeed? How do you know that? This is a big plateau. The wista might be far away."

 

"Wista might be here," Rella replied pointing at the cavern entrance. "Not go, never go. Not even for Blake-teacher." She sounded mildly regretful, as if she'd heard she would have to eat sludge rather than lizard for dinner.

 

"Blake wanted to civilize you," Avon said disgustedly. "He was a fool, as usual." He started for the door then came to an abrupt stop. Why was  _he_  going? If Blake was stupid enough to stay out past dark when he must know it was time for the twin moons to be full, why should Avon risk his life to save him? It was stupid. Wherever the wista was, it obviously terrified the tribe, and Avon wasn't eager for a face-to-face encounter with it.

 

Instead, he strode to the entrance and bellowed, "Blake! Where are you?"

 

"Avon-danger not go outside?" Dannal asked happily. "Avon-danger stay safe? Much like Avon-danger, not want to lose him."

 

"You 'much like' Blake-teacher too," Avon reminded him, resenting Dannal's concern for his safety, though he knew Dannal wouldn't dream of following him if he went outside, no matter how much he claimed to like him. Lamak was practically Blake's shadow, and Joll and three others were alive today because Blake had taken on extra hunting duty to feed them. But not one of them was willing to venture out to hunt for Blake, though there was still no trace off the wista.

 

"You fool, Blake," Avon muttered furiously under his breath. "These people aren't worth your concern. You tried to civilize them, but they're going to let you die."

 

He didn't expect them to understand that, but Dannal was still listening. "Not know civilize, Avon-danger, but if civilize mean risk life, help other people, Avon-danger not civilized. Avon-danger safe, with Greens."

 

"Oh, thank you," Avon returned resentfully, having no desire to be called a barbarian.

 

Outside in the darkness, something huge wailed, the sound appallingly frightening. Any desire to look for Blake vanished immediately. Whatever that was, it sounded like it could gobble up resistance leaders in one bite. Was there only one of the thing or was there a herd?

 

At the nerve-wrenching sound, the Greens fled the cave entrance as if they'd been programmed. heading for the deeper tunnels, snatching up food as they ran, abandoning everything else behind them. Avon watched them dive into concealment like rabbits, wanting with every fiber of his being to follow them. Instead he bellowed, " _Blake_!" again and strained to hear an answer.

 

The monster howled again, closer this time. Warily, Avon parted the curtain of vines that covered the top of the cave entrance and stared out into the moonlit twilight. He couldn't see Blake, and he couldn't see the wista, but he felt a tremor run through the ground beneath his feet, another. Was it as big as that, then, to shake the earth when it moved?

 

" _Blake_!!"

 

"Coming!" The shout was faint and far away, and Avon strained to see a distant Blake with something slung over his shoulder that looked, at this distance, to be one of the Greens. Damn the man, he was rescuing yet another of them, and that meant Avon would have to help hunt extra food for the foolish tribesman.

 

Then, behind Blake, Avon saw the wista, and his blood ran cold.

 

It was massive, almost as big as one of the hills the Greens lived in, and it was like something from a nightmare. Only its vast bulk enabled Blake to run before it, and the creature was gaining on him. It had a huge mouth like a shovel, as big as the  _Liberator's_  teleport, that was open and howling revealing massive teeth the size of a man's forearm. A long, forked tongue shot out of its mouth. lashing toward Blake and the tribesman, closer every moment. Once the beast paused and heaved itself up on hind legs, and Avon shuddered, wondering what would happen if it chose to come down on top of the hill that sheltered them.

 

Avon had been scornful of the tribesmen's stories about the wista, but now he could understand their fear. This monster could crush a whole tribe with its bulk; it could probably devour four or five of them at one gulp. The tribes could never stand against it. Neither could Avon. Involuntarily, he backed away from the entrance. Nothing would have induced him to go out to give Blake cover. Nothing.

 

Blake bounded closer, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he ran, bearing one of the tribesmen, Paro, Avon thought, on his shoulder. Behind him, the wista gained ground.

 

Something touched his arm, and he looked down in astonishment to see Dannal prodding him with a stick. "Come back, Avon-danger. Wista eat all. Run!"

 

Avon stared dumbfounded at the little alien. Dannal had come this far from shelter to urge him to hide. Was he a fool, like Blake, or was the cave safe enough for that?

 

Then Dannal saw the wista and he fled again, abandoning Avon without a qualm. Avon looked at the wista and came close to following him. He did draw back from the entrance, but he didn't seek the deep tunnels.

 

Blake staggered on, almost winded. It was a good thing they'd had a month here before the wista came. Without the conditioning of the daily hunts, Blake wouldn't have made it this far.

 

Blake stumbled the last few feet to the shelter and burst into the cave. almost falling, and passed Paro, limp and unconscious, to Avon, who took him reluctantly and positioned him carefully to avoid his fingertips. With his last strength, Blake withdrew from the entrance and stood bent over, hands braced on his knees, sobbing for breath, his body quivering, probably from both exhaustion and fear. Outside, the wista howled its demoralizing cry and Paro started awake shrieking.

 

"Be quiet!" Avon ordered savagely, and he quieted in surprise.

 

The wista snuffled around the entrance for almost ten minutes, while Blake fought to steady his breathing and Paro wiggled free and ran for the deep caves. Avon took Blake's arm and tried to steer him there, too, but Blake resisted him, either too spent to understand what Avon wanted or out of foolish curiosity. Avon could see the creature's massive feet moving back and forth outside the entrance, but it made no attempt to force its way inside.

 

When Blake's breathing began to ease, he looked around, noticed Avon's discarded spear, and picked it up, edging toward the doorway.

 

"That's good, Blake. Make it mad," Avon mocked, preparing to retreat if the creature attacked. Blake inched closer, bracing the spear, throwing it. Avon expected it to bounce off the leg, but it didn't. It sank into the flesh easily, almost its entire length penetrating the beast's leg, and the wista let out the most horrendous sound yet, thrashing and stamping and wailing. Avon retreated still further, but Blake stood his ground. "Dam you, Blake, will you run!"

 

Then, as if it had lost interest, the wista turned and lumbered away. The vibrations of its footfalls grew fainter and fainter, finally ceasing altogether, and Avon went reluctantly to meet Blake, who was breathing normally again and who looked rather pleased with himself.

 

"You are an utter fool!" Avon spat at him savagely. "One spear won't kill it, Blake."

 

"What are you doing out here alone. Avon?" Blake asked. "Waiting for me?"

 

"Exactly that. More fool I."

 

"Thank you."

 

"Thank you? For what? You see before you someone with all the courage of the Greens." His tone was disparaging, and there was a mocking look in his eyes. "None of them would come out to back you, and neither did I."

 

"Feeling a little guilty?" Blake asked perceptively, but not as if he held it against him.

 

"Dannal said that, since I wasn't risking my life to save you, I was obviously uncivilized," Avon informed him. "He meant it as a compliment. I think you are giving these people a misguided idea of civilization, Blake. Should the Federation ever find them, the Greens would become extinct fairly quickly, I think. Civilization would be the death of them."

 

"Dannal said that?" Blake frowned. "I notice he didn't stay either."

 

"You will be delighted to know that he came out of the deep caves and tried to make me join him there."

 

That startled Blake. "He did?" he asked eagerly. "That's more than I dared hope."

 

"Is it? An optimist like you?"

 

"Don't you mean 'foolish optimist,' Avon?"

 

"Do I?"

 

"What's wrong?" Blake persisted. "You  _are_  feeling guilty, aren't you? Don't, Avon. That creature would terrify any sane man. I don't think I ever ran so fast in my entire life."

 

"Saving Paro as you came? What's wrong with him?"

 

"A turned ankle."

 

"Wonderful. I foresee days of extra hunting. It's bad enough we've got Joll to feed, now it's Paro, too."

 

"We, Avon?" Blake asked.

 

Avon flushed slightly. "I know you will permit neither of them to die and since you are unable to hunt for more than two people, you will make me assist you."

 

"And you'll do it?"

 

"Not when that thing is out there."

 

"It only comes out at night. Avon."

 

"Then I shall not go our at night." Avon noticed the Greens beginning to emerge from their shelter. They saw Blake at once and lunged at him in delight, prancing around him happily.

 

"Blake-teacher, Blake-teacher!" they cried. "Blake teacher escape wista! Must feast, celebrate. No dead-meal. All safe."

 

"No thanks to any of you," Avon muttered.  _Or to me_ , he thought, resenting it. It would have been stupid and suicidal to go out there. He'd risked his life for Blake before, and would possibly be idiotic enough to do so again, but not against something like that. Blake didn't even expect it of him and, perversely, that annoyed Avon all the more.

 

Blake left the circle of Greens who were demanding a story about his escape, telling them, "In a minute." He stopped beside Avon and put his hand on Avon's shoulder. "I don't blame you for not coming out there, Avon. I'm rather flattered that you might blame yourself, but I wish you wouldn't. Now I've seen the thing, I can understand the Greens' reaction, too. We'll have to plan how best to kill it, but that'll take time and maybe months of preparation." He patted Avon's shoulder companionably. "Come along and hear my story," he urged. "If we ever get back to civilization, I can get a job relating viscast melodramas."

 

" _That_  should prove interesting." But he came along with Blake, taking his usual place beside the campfire. He resented being absolved from blame in the wista incident and, even more, he resented the fact that he had wanted that absolution. Survival might be the most important thing here, but survival alone, without human companionship wasn't worth the price. Avon didn't want to believe that, but it was true. He had not gone to help Blake. If he had been the one running, Blake would have come to help him. That made Blake a Grade A fool. It also meant that the Greens could better relate to Avon's actions than they could Blake's. Human nature, Avon thought cynically. The Greens might be more 'human' than Blake was willing to admit.

 

As Blake began his story. Avon pushed his dark thoughts into a remote corner of his mind, taking a glass of c'naveel, the only remotely alcoholic beverage the Greens produced. It was a foul stuff, made of some grain or other, and ordinarily Avon didn't like it much, but tonight he wanted it. Maybe he would take a leaf from Vila's book and get drunk. Maybe, just maybe, the little thief had the right idea.

 

* * * * *

 

 

Conditions deteriorated after the wista came, and Blake was disheartened. The wista prowled for two nights and news came afterwards that it had killed seven people to the north. The word spread among the hunters, just as the word that 'Blake-teacher' had speared it in the leg did. Tribesmen came from all over to hear the story, standing near the cave entrance in the firelight to listen, and Blake told the story reluctantly, for he felt he had done nothing heroic. The Greens were mostly in agreement with that analysis, even if some of the younger hunters were more interested than the older ones. Blake wished he could believe they were possible recruits in his plan to kill the wista but, when he suggested it, even the most gung ho hunters melted away into the night and didn't come back. Over the next few weeks, he realized that the only reason they were interested in killing the wista was because it promised an unlimited source of food.

 

The real source of Blake's depression was Avon. Before the wista, Blake had been enjoying the process of getting better acquainted with him, relishing his companionship here where civilized conversation was a never developed art. The Greens were too much here-and-now creatures to have any interest in philosophy. Avon, though far more cynical than Blake, was intelligent and challenging. Now Avon had withdrawn again, becoming almost as silent and sullen as he had been at the first. The wista incident had made them lose ground with each other.

 

Blake couldn't help wondering if Avon, who claimed to care for nothing but himself, was still feeling guilty because he hadn't come dashing out to confront the wista. Blake almost wished Avon had done it, because he valued any evidence of concern on Avon's part and because he would have been able to use it as an example for the Greens. Mostly he was glad he hadn't because there was nothing Avon could have done. But Avon refused to discuss the subject. He did extra hunting as promised, using it as an excuse to go out on his own. He was confident enough with his spear and bow to have no concern about other tribes, who were familiar with the strangers now and less likely to want to attack 'Avon-danger,' whose reputation had preceded him.

 

Blake missed the easy friendship that Avon had begun to display and he grew quieter himself, to the disappointment of the Greens, who kept demanding stories of him.

 

It might have been due to an obscure desire to punish Avon for his stubborn solitude that Blake began to tell the Greens about the  _Liberator_  and its crew. He had to simplify to make it comprehensible since the Greens didn't understand what a spaceship was, but eventually they compromised on the story of a great boat on an immense pool far from any shore. Jenna became the one who steered the boat. Cally was a mystical figure to them, and they liked to hear of her because she could communicate mentally, as they did. While Avon and Blake had talked with them that way at first, they had evidently done it clumsily and without skill, and as a result the Greens decided that Cally was first among them and took to calling her Cally-leader, a name which amused Avon enough to evoke the first genuine smile Blake had seen in days. Vila they liked. They dubbed him Vila-fun and never tired of hearing his exploits.

 

Avon listened to these stories as intently as the Greens did, although he pretended not to, restringing his bow or even working the great loom. He had accepted the job modifying the loom to improve its functioning. Blake suspected he found peace working it, even designing new patterns, though he had nothing to do with dying the kvelit fur thread or even preparing it. The loom was the only type of machine in the entire world, and Avon claimed it as his own. When he was working on it, he listened to the stories of the  _Liberator_  and her crew, apparently missing them as much as Black did.

 

Avon finished the cloth he was working on and began to take it out of the loom. As he did, Dannal bounced up from his cozy place against the wall and went to help him. "Need help, Avon-danger?" he asked brightly.

 

"Had I needed help, I would have asked for it," Avon returned in a surly voice.

 

Dannal stood his ground, unoffended. "Not," he accused, smiling. "Avon-danger not ask, even when need. I help." He began to do so, handling the material carefully, though cloth made of kvelit fur was resistant to fingertip acid. Blake knew the Greens treated it to make it so, but Dannal was probably being careful not to hurt Avon. All the Greens were careful with them now, and Blake didn't know if it were something like courtesy, which would mean they'd learned something from him, or whether it was simply because he and Avon were valuable to the tribe.

 

Dannal was obviously fond of Avon, although Avon gave him no encouragement. It occurred to Blake that Avon didn't discourage him either, but treated him neutrally, much as he had been treating Blake lately. Blake had taken it for rejection, but maybe it hadn't been intended as such. Avon might really have felt guilty for failing to help Blake against the wista, and Blake had rubbed his nose in it. Neither of them were used to the new developments in their friendship, nor were they used to admitting they even had one. It was proving harder to manage than he'd expected.

 

Blake rose and went over to the loom. "Could you use a third person on that?" he asked carefully.

 

Avon looked up in surprise, and some of the tension left his posture. "Dannal will show you how," he said, and the Green brightened as if Avon had conferred a blessing on him and came forward eagerly. "I be Dannal-teacher," he offered and began to explain the workings of the loom. Over his bent head, Blake caught Avon's eye and they exchanged a smile. Blake didn't delude himself that their problems were over but at least they'd got through one more of them. He turned back to Dannal, who continued his explanation. His Terran was improving all the time and, even more surprising, he was starting to show a remarkable perception around Avon. Even more remarkably, Avon was tolerant of him. Perhaps he was not above enjoying being liked as much as Dannal did.

 

* * * * *

 

 

As the month progressed, Avon unbent a bit more, putting the wista incident behind him, though he tended to tense up when any of the Greens mentioned it. He wanted no part of the creature again. Blake hadn't mentioned plans to defeat it in a party yet, even if Avon knew him well

enough to know he hadn't abandoned the idea. The success of his thrown spear must have convinced him it was worth trying and sometimes, when Avon came upon Blake looking pensive, he suspected Blake was working out a scheme to kill it. Avon wanted nothing to do with it, though he knew Blake would try to assign him a part in it. That was the trouble with Blake. When he got an idea, he became disgustingly gung-ho--someone must have invented that word to describe Roj Blake--and carried everyone else along on the tide of his enthusiasm. Avon doubted it would work here. For one thing, Avon was the least enthusiastic of Blake's 'followers' and, for another, the Greens couldn't understand Blake's motives. It wasn't that it went against their beliefs--as far as Avon could tell, they had none. But the idea of risking oneself to save somebody else hadn't occurred to them until Blake started mucking about with them and, now it had, they thought it a lunatic idea. Maybe the Greens had more sense than he'd given them credit for.

 

Avon had been somewhat disgusted at the Greens' self-serving attitude until he realized that Blake had got at him, too. After Blake, Avon must expect more than was reasonable from people. That was an annoying attitude and it would have to go. Here among these primitives, Avon didn't want it to go. He didn't want Blake to change. It could be that Blake was his link to a technological world or it could be that coming to know Blake so well made him like the man, something Avon admitted rarely and with difficulty. He tried to believe he would have welcomed anyone who knew the difference between a teleport and a laser probe, but it wasn't true. If he had to be stranded here with anyone, he preferred it to be Blake.

 

He didn't want to feel that way. Sentiment was a weakness that could kill. But was it sentiment to welcome Blake's company when it meant he didn't have to be alone with the Greens? Was it sentiment to be glad of another quick mind to assume the burden of enduring their exile? Without Blake, this place would have been insupportable.

 

Now Blake was busy making soap. Long ago he'd read a computer file on it and, while the details were hazy, anything would be better than scouring one's body with sand to get clean. Shampoo would be nice too, thought Avon, feeling the weight of his greasy hair on the back of his neck. He and Blake had tried to keep their hair short at first, cutting it with a knife, but that was difficult, and now they bound it back with leather headbands. They looked like savages, but it kept it from their eyes.

 

"How's the soap coming?" Avon called, more to get an answer than because he really wanted to know.

 

Blake looked up from the steaming pot. "I'll turn it over to you in a minute if you say the word."

 

"That bad?" Avon hid a smile. Blake was careful to keep his temper in front of the natives, even when his patience was stretched thin; it was left for 'Avon-danger' to become angry. Oddly, none of the Greens were ever surprised by his bad temper, unless it arose from an argument with Blake over something they didn't understand and, even then, they weren't upset or offended, only curious.

 

"I don't think I was cut out to be a pioneer," Blake replied, wiping his hands on a rag and joining Avon. "How are the sandals coming?"

 

"Neither was I intended to be a shoemaker, Blake." Avon set aside the carved leather into which he had been fitting laces. "I can't imagine what wearing something like this will do to one's back."

 

"Backaches, Avon?" Blake asked in concern.

 

"Not lately." He had been plagued with them in the beginning; all that running around with spears being bad for one's posture, if not one's health, but both of them had grown lean and fit, and even sleeping on a rough pallet at night didn't bother his back any more.

 

"That's good. I don't have any headaches either, unless the sun's too bright."

 

"I could rig a sunscreen, a hat with a brim to shield your eyes."

 

"It's a bit of a comedown from designing computers, isn't it, Avon?"

 

"If we had any suitable materials, I'd even attempt that," Avon replied. "But as near as I can tell, this is a metal-poor world. The Greens don't miss it; they haven't had much of it. I sometimes wonder where they got their cooking pots. They don't work metal."

 

Blake stared in surprise. "They don't, do they?" He glanced around the cavern. "Lamak?"

 

The headman came hurrying over. "What want, Blake-teacher?" he asked expectantly.

 

"Lamak, how did your people make their cooking pots?" Blake asked.

 

Lamak's face closed up. "Not make," he replied stiffly as if it were a secret.

 

Avon began to get interested. He had noticed the Greens concealing things a time or two, such as their talk of the Masters. Avon remembered wondering if the Greens had been seeded here. Their children were all young, little more than babies, as if they had just begun having children recently. It was possible that a plague had attacked older children, but all of them? Blake had said he thought the Greens had been brought here, but brought from where? Brought by whom? Avon wanted to know. Had someone brought them here and given them the basic supplies they needed? Was that someone still watching over them and, if so, was there a chance that someone would return? Could it be a means of escape?

 

"Lamak," he interjected, "how long have your people lived at the Top of the World?"

 

Lamak eyed him warily as if he suspected it was a trick question. Maybe it was. "Always at Top of World, Avon-danger," he returned. "Never other place. Never know other place be before Avon-danger and Blake-teacher come."

 

"Where did the pots come from then if you didn't make them and you were never anyplace else?"

 

Lamak looked stubborn, holding out his spearhand in a gesture of negation. "Not make," he repeated. "Pots gift."

 

"This is getting interesting," Avon muttered to Blake. "Who gave you the pots, Lamak?"

 

"Why ask, Avon-danger? Bad question. Bring trouble, ask too many questions. Pots here. We use. Not make."

 

"Possibly their ancestors, Avon," mused Blake. "Maybe the tribe was once more civilized."

 

"I should tend to doubt that." Avon shook his head. "They have no concept of it, and if it was something they'd left behind, there'd be traces of it. Selective racial amnesia is difficult to believe."

 

"I know," agreed Blake. "I still favor the seeding idea. Some other powerful race put them here and gave them what they'd need to survive."

 

"They hardly need metal cooking pots," protested Avon. "They eat lizards raw, and they could make sludge in clay pots if they wanted to. There's enough clay around, and they make their drinking gourds from it. If someone else brought them here, they may have given them the pots because they were available and easy."

 

"Lamak, your people were brought here from somewhere else, weren't they?" Blake asked.

 

"Not," insisted Lamak, shaking his head in imitation of the human sign of negation. "Always here."

 

"It doesn't make much sense," Blake replied. "Who gave you the pots, Lamak?"

 

"Lamak not tell. Bad to speak of Masters."

 

"Ah," breathed Avon. "Now we come to the heart of it. You've mentioned the Masters before. Who are they?"

 

Lamak shook his head again, almost in tears. "Not tell, Avon-danger. Not make Lamak tell."

 

"Leave it, Avon," Blake warned. "We're not getting anywhere."

 

"But if these are 'masters', maybe they've got communications and we could use them to get away."

 

Blake dropped a restraining hand on Avon's arm. "Lamak, it's all right. You don't have to tell about the Masters now. Go back to your work."

 

"Thank you, Blake-teacher." Lamak replied with curious dignity. It had taken the Greens a long time to grasp the purpose of that phrase, and now they had, they used it constantly. Avon had noticed them passing each other unneeded items just to create the opportunity. Usually they would laugh uproariously afterwards, but Lamak wasn't laughing now. He scuttled away, head bowed, casting a nervous look over his shoulder before darting down one of the tunnels.

 

Avon heaved an impatient sigh. "You're right, Blake," he admitted. "They can't talk about it. I wonder if it's a form of conditioning. I'll have to see how to get round it. If we can find a way out of here--"

 

"I won't do it at the risk of their mental stability, Avon. Push them too hard and we'll destroy them, and that is a responsibility I will not take."

 

"I'm not asking you to take it, Blake," Avon insisted. "I'll see what I can learn without help from you."

 

"Leave it, Avon." Blake sounded resolute. "I won't destroy the Greens, not when we're making such progress, and I won't permit you to do it either."

 

"Do you imagine you could stop me?" Avon asked coldly, resisting the urge to demand what it was that Blake considered progress.

 

Blake caught and held his eyes in an intense look. "I think you'll leave it if I ask you to," he said. "Am I right, Avon?"

 

It took an effort for Avon to bite back his furious words and not to throw at Blake the accusation that if asking nicely didn't work, Blake would back his demand with force. He knew Blake was capable of that, and he admired that strength while he resented being made its target. But Blake was right. If he asked Avon to hold back, Avon would, and he resented it.

 

Instead of losing his temper, though, he found himself grinning. "You're a dangerous man. Blake," he accused. "Did no one ever tell you that you couldn't always have things your own way?"

 

Blake's eyes twinkled. "I thought  _you_  had," he purred.

 

In spite of his best efforts to the contrary, Avon burst out laughing. "Blake, you will be the death of me yet. And I give you warning. If I learn that the Greens know a way out of here, I will push to find out what it is."

 

If you do, I'll help you," Blake agreed. "But not at their expense."

 

"No interest in self-preservation. Blake?"

 

"I'll leave that to you, Avon. You do it so well."

 

That was true. Avon looked thoughtfully after Lamak. If the headman wouldn't talk about the pots, maybe he could get the information from one of the others, possibly Dannal. Dannal was always about, under his feet when Avon least expected or wanted it, and Dannal was very bright for a Green. But Dannal could close up too, and Avon had thought little of it, simply because he wasn't really interested enough in the Greens to want further information.

 

If some powerful race had brought the greens here, someone must know it. Someone must remember how they came. If there were a way to come here, there was a way to leave, though every tribesman he and Blake had talked to had insisted there was no way down from the plateau.

 

Avon bided his time until Blake was out hunting and unlikely to interfere. He knew Dannal liked to hunt along the ridge of the plateau, fascinated by the different cloud layers there and that, of all the Greens, Dannal sometimes ventured over the edge of the cliff to the high ledges where he raided birds' nests for eggs, a rare treat. While the birds were big and leathery, not unlike pictures Avon had once seen of prehistoric pterodactyls, the eggs were delicious, and everyone relished them, though only Dannal ever found them.

 

That morning, Avon followed Dannal purposefully, and when the agile little Green had pulled himself over the top of the cliff with four huge eggs cradled in his sack, Avon was waiting, catching his arm to steady him. Dannal looked gratified, grinning widely, a sight Avon found rather repulsive, but which he concealed by smiling back.

 

"Eggs, I see." he commented. "We will east well tonight."

 

"Eggs best food." Dannal agreed. "What Avon-danger do here? Why not hunt with Blake-teacher?"

 

"I wanted to talk to you."

 

Dannal never looked for hidden meanings in Avon's words, though the name the natives gave him suggested a need for caution around him. Dannal only nodded expectantly. "What make talk about, Avon-danger?"

 

"The Masters," Avon replied. "Who are they and where are they?"

 

Dannal's face closed away from him. "Not know," Dannal replied. "Not see Masters. Never talk about Masters. Avon-danger not ask. Please?"

 

The Greens played with 'please like they did 'thank you' but, this time, Dannal meant it in earnest. Avon knew he could force the Green to tell him, but he held back, not because Blake expected it of him but because Dannal was so obviously distressed that he doubted he could learn anything. He might succeed if he persisted, but Dannal would fear him for it and avoid him in future.

 

Avon's lip curled in a sour smile. He must be far gone to hold back out of concern for some primitive savage's sensibilities. He could imagine people's scorn for him if he did anything so sentimental. He found Dannal a nuisance, following him about and pestering him with questions, but he didn't want to drive him psychotic.

 

So he said carefully, "I have one more question. Do the Masters have ships like the  _Liberator_? Could Blake-teacher and I use the Master's ships to get away from here?"

 

Dannal's eyes swam with sudden tears and, to Avon's astonishment, the native flung his arms around Avon's waist, careful to keep his fingertips away, and hugged him tight. "Not go, Avon-danger. Please not go. Dannal not want Avon-danger to leave."

 

"Well now, there seems little danger of that," Avon replied, disconcerted, trying awkwardly to disengage himself. "Blake-teacher and I are staying here."

 

"Blake-teacher good for Greens, but Avon-danger special!" Dannal insisted, to Avon's discomfiture. "Avon-danger please not go. Tell Avon-danger about Masters, Avon-danger stay?"

 

"Tell me only if they have a ship," Avon said. "You have heard Blake-teacher talk of  _Liberator_. Did Masters bring Greens to the Top of the World in such a ship?"

 

"No. Greens never anyplace but Top of World. Greens always here. Never see ship like  _Liberator_. True, Avon-danger. Never see ship. Like to see ship. Someday, ship come, Dannal go for ride?"

 

"Perhaps." This was halfway what he had feared, that there was no memory of the arrival here. Avon was beginning to have some suspicions about the Greens' origins but he had no way to prove them and, without further information, he could do nothing. He said, "Do you think the Masters brought me and Blake-teacher here?"

 

"Maybe so," Dannal conceded. "Back to camp now, Avon-danger? Eggs good. Dannal very hungry. Share eggs with Avon-danger."

 

"Thank you," said Avon gravely. He and Dannal returned to the cavern, and he accepted his share of the eggs with proper deference, thinking furiously. It was far easier to speculate about the possible identity of the Masters than it was to consider Dannal's obvious hero worship. Vila would laugh himself sick if he knew about it, and Blake would be smugly satisfied. Damn them. Avon still found the natives tedious, but he had to admit that Dannal was the brightest of the lot. Maybe he'd tell Avon more about the Masters later. It would take time.

 

* * * * *

 

 

Blake hid a smile as they set off for the pool for the monthly washing. Dannal had attached himself to Avon again, and Avon was remarkably tolerant about it. He'd never been one to suffer fools gladly, but even Avon was susceptible to a little judiciously applied flattery, and Dannal clearly worshipped the ground he walked on. Blake enjoyed Avon's uneasiness with the situation, perhaps more than he should, for Lamak showed a similar adoration for him. More serious than the eager Dannal, Lamak was prone to ponder over Blake's stories as if they were actually lessons, often coming to Blake later to ask him why the people in the stories acted as they did. No longer did he scoff at the concept of friendship, even encouraged it among his people, though it was still every man for himself in time of crisis. Lamak smiled upon Dannal's devotion to Avon and the way Joll, Paro and a few of the others brought Blake extra treats with tolerant amusement.

 

Blake had begun to encourage the Greens to make up stories of their own or to relate their day's adventures on the hunt and, while they were not yet very imaginative and the stories were often dull, they enjoyed talking before the group, and they were starting to embroider their tales, embellishing them with a wealth of detail. Avon said the detail was even more dreary than the plain stories, but Avon was not a patient man.

 

Yet lately he was patient with Dannal. He was even patient with Blake, who often felt like a man waiting for the other shoe to drop. Avon had never been tolerant, and he tended to be self-serving, though he had surprised Blake more than once as when he had come down to Horizon to rescue them instead of making off with the  _Liberator_. Remembering that, Blake smiled fondly. Avon's actions often belied his words, and Blake was careful to refrain from comment when he did something that seemed altruistic, though sometimes he couldn't resist pointing it out to Avon in hopes of getting a reaction.

 

As they went to the pool today, they had not only new clothes but also the soap that Blake had made, which worked adequately. The natives liked it, laughing uproariously over the bubbles and enjoying the way a bar would squirt unexpectedly from their hands. They got dirty all over again in pursuit of the soap, so Blake was kept busy making more, a task he would be delighted to turn over to one of the Greens. Joll was interested, and another few weeks should see him skilled enough to handle the job.

 

Avon had done more weaving and, instead of wrap-around skirts, they now had tunics and baggy pants, which Avon had fitted with a drawstring waist in the absence of snaps, zippers, and other fasteners. Blake had been forced to suppress a laugh as he watched Avon work on them with a crude bone needle. Between that and the sandals he'd made, they now possessed decent clothing, without bright designs, a fact for which Blake was grateful. He'd not liked the patterned clothes.

 

Blake had noticed the moons were full less frequently than Earth's moon had been, and from the rough calendar he'd carved for himself, checking the days by cutting chips in a log, he saw that five weeks had passed since their last visit to the pool. The wista would soon return, and in that area, he had made no headway with the Greens. No matter how many times he tried to explain that a united effort could kill the wista, the natives still shut down when the subject came up. Each time, Avon was unsurprised, although he occasionally added his voice to Blake's, pointing out that people died anyway and that losing several more in order to insure permanent safety was worth the effort. It was not an argument Blake would have used, yet it produced a thoughtful silence, although no one had come around to his way of thinking yet.

 

Blake and Avon had spent several evenings drawing up a plan of attack on the off chance that the Greens might agree to attempt it one day. It would require at least six settlements' involvement, Blake had decided, everyone armed with spears and bows. They would lure the wista into the deep gully not far from the pool, where hunters could be positioned overhead with a large supply of spears. When the wista reached the gully, hunters would block both ends of it and everyone could attack, gradually weakening the wista until it collapsed. It would be certain to charge one group of hunters or the other, and Blake couldn't see it happening without some loss of life, but it was the best plan he could make. He had even volunteered to stand with the hunters at the head of the valley, waiting for the wista to appear. Lamak had remained unmoved.

 

Avon had not. "Blake, you are a fool!" he had burst out violently. "You can't take that kind of risk."

 

I'm asking the Greens to take it," Blake had insisted. "I can't do that unless I'm willing to take it myself."

 

"That's ridiculous. If the Greens are to survive as you wish them to, they will continue to need your example. If you risk your life so stupidly, you will accomplish nothing more and, if you should fall, the rest of them would panic and scatter, assuming you could get them to cooperate in the first place. And I have no intention of taking your place in this mad venture should you die."

 

He was right, but Blake didn't think the Greens would do it unless he did it with them. "I don't expect you to accompany me, Avon." he had assured him.

 

"I hope you don't, for I have no intention of doing so."

 

"I thought you might join them on the hills above. You should be safe enough there, and if the worst happened, you'd still be here to take over where I left off. I think you'd do it in spite of what you say."

 

Blake, I am no teacher. I do not want your place. Neither do I want you killed in some futile plan." He added grudgingly, "I might even miss you."

 

Blake grinned. "I'm glad to hear it, Avon. But this--" he indicated his drawings in the dirt--"won't work the way things stand now. It's just a speculation. I'm not about to give up, but it will take more than you and me--and possibly Dannal--to overcome the wista. One spear in the leg didn't incapacitate it at all."

 

"So I remember," Avon had replied, looking uneasy. "Blake, there was nothing I could have done--"

 

"I know that, Avon."

 

"I should have thought you'd be disappointed that I didn't give your precious Greens a better example." Blake realized he really meant it, and he clapped Avon on the shoulder in a comradely fashion--these days Avon gave no sign of resenting such actions-- and erased the drawing with his foot. "Maybe you will yet," he said cheerfully. "We appear to have plenty of time."

 

Avon grimaced. "You never give up, do you, Blake?"

 

"With so much at stake? Never."

 

"At stake? The Greens' social development?"

 

"And your friendship," Blake admitted frankly.

 

Avon looked away, but he turned back to shake his head with patient amusement. "Well now," he had returned, "we must not forget about that, must we."

 

That was the closest Avon had come to admitting they  _were_  friends. Progress indeed.

 

Remembering that conversation now, he couldn't hold back a smile. It was the one advantage to being stranded on the Top of the World. He was seeing another side of Avon and of himself, too. Forced to set aside his cause for the duration, he had discovered the freedom to be himself, not Roj Blake, rebel leader, figurehead to the resistance, but Roj Blake, human being. He had exposed the Greens' cause so readily that Avon wouldn't agree that he'd changed that much, but this was a different kind of cause, one that didn't obsess him as the old one had. There were times when he felt himself relaxing, simply enjoying life. He wondered if he and Avon could have ever become this close on the  _Liberator_. There had been something between them even then, but it had been bound up in so many other threads that it had been lost in the overall pattern. He had wanted Avon to back him in his fight against the Federation. He wanted it so much that he had sometimes pushed Avon too far. If he had been less determined to overthrow the Federation, if he had put a few of his own needs first, he might have seen how driven he was becoming. Gan had paid the price for his growing obsession, and that was hard to live with.

 

But he and Avon had been given another chance. If they ever returned to the  _Liberator_ , he might handle himself and his cause differently. He'd even said so to Avon, who had viewed him with tolerant skepticism and informed him that he wasn't likely to change. But that tolerance proved that he had. Avon wouldn't have reacted so to the man who had bulldozed their way to Central Control and an empty room.

 

Yet it had been Avon he'd turned to even there, Avon who had given him support even as he pointed out Blake's failure, Avon who was always there, though he might mock and scoff and even resent the power that Blake seemed to hold over him. If he had to be stranded, at least it was with Avon, and a few months out of their lives was not too high a price to pay for their friendship.

 

They reached the pool and the Greens went whooping down to fling themselves into the water. Avon and Blake moved along to their portion of the beach and began to shed their clothes. Avon looked slightly self-conscious; perhaps he was remembering their frolicking in the water the last time and wondering if he was expected to repeat the performance. In spite of the relaxation of his barriers, Avon had never really learned how to play.

 

"There used to be a saying back on Earth, Avon," Blake told him. "The last one in is a rotten egg."

 

Avon cocked a startled eyebrow at him. "Why?" he asked, perplexed.

 

Brought up short, Blake stared at him. "I've absolutely no idea," he returned. "Perhaps it was meant to be a challenge."

 

"Then if it is a challenge, Blake--" Avon began and cut off quickly, reaching the water first, where he spun around, waist deep, shivering at the shock of his sudden immersion and laughed at Blake. "You lost," he pointed out.

 

"Did I?"

 

Avon grinned. "What are you waiting for, Blake? I thought you could walk on water."

 

Blake burst out laughing and hit the water, lunging at Avon, who backed away, sending up a heavy spray. He might have got away, but he tripped and went over backwards with a colossal splash.

 

He didn't come up.

 

Blake had charged forward happily only to stop when he realized Avon had not surfaced. "Avon!" he shouted, then he did a quick surface dive and began to search for him. The water was murky and dark, the sky above slightly overcast, and at first he could see nothing. Then a dark shape materialized in front of him and he found himself face to face with Avon, who was swimming toward him underwater. The two of them stopped, staring at each other in surprise, then they surfaced, laughing.

 

"I think it is time for another swimming lesson, Blake," Avon said hastily when he caught his breath.

 

Blake found himself thinking that Jenna, Cally, and Vila would never believe it when he told them about their swimming expeditions

 

Spared the agony of scrubbing with sand and cleaner than before because of Blake's soap, they had more time for sunbathing and, gradually, the Greens drifted along to their portion of the beach, flinging themselves down beside them to plead for a story. Blake noticed they were a paler green under their skirts. He wondered if they'd had copper based blood. He remembered once seeing an ancient viscast about a being from another world whose blood was green like the Greens' because of a copper base. That character knew telepathy too but he'd looked nothing like the Greens. Hadn't he had pointed ears?

 

Blake was running out of stories to tell the Greens, but the more they heard the more they understood. Blake had begun to tell them abbreviated versions of Shakespeare's plays, aided by Avon, who had apparently memorized them all. He wouldn't have suspected Avon of enjoying literature, but one day he'd come upon Avon telling a group of eager Greens a story that Avon later admitted was based on an ancient children's book called  _The Hobbit_. Blake had never heard of it, and he'd encouraged Avon to relate further such tales. Odd to think that someone like Avon, who lived and breathed computers, would have once indulged in a secret passion for fantasy.

 

* * * * *

 

Good times always had to end and it seemed that no sooner had they returned from the pool it was time for the wista to return. Blake had failed to persuade the Greens to consider fighting the beast, though one or two of the more reckless and hot-headed young males were beginning to exhibit signs of bravado, claiming they were strong enough to take on dangers far beyond that of normal Greens.

 

Lamak, who possessed an unexpectedly practical side to his nature, was disgusted by the entire idea. He felt it was his responsibility to see to his people's safety, though his leadership did not include risking his own life to do so. Still, it was a promising sign, and Blake's campfire stories began to include tales of heroism and historic leaders who had defended their people and won acclaim for it. Lamak listened seriously, if he still appeared scornful of those who risked their lives for others.

 

The day the moons would be full, Blake had urged everyone to return to the caverns early, and in the late afternoon, he checked to make sure no one had been left behind. The babies and toddlers were taken into the deepest caverns well in advance of sunset, and the evening meal was eaten earlier than usual. The Greens had always known roughly when the moons would be full, but they had not watched as carefully as Blake had, and this time, they should be quite safe. As darkness fell, tension thickened over the camp. Blake couldn't help noticing that Avon seemed uncomfortable too. The Greens were frightened simply because the moons were full and they would become even more terrified when they heard the wista, but Avon's imagination was better, and he remembered last time all too well. He sat beside the fire, his hands curled around a mug of c'naveel, though he didn't drink it. Blake, who usually tended to pace, sat beside him. Avon lifted dark eyes and dropped them again to hide his fear.

 

"I'll be glad when it's morning." Blake ventured.

 

"I would willingly forego the next two nights," Avon responded, the corners of his mouth lifting in a halfhearted smile.

 

"I hate this," Blake went on. "People living in fear of a threat that we could put an end to."

 

"You don't order the universe, Blake." Avon took a sip of his c'naveel. After due consideration, he added, "Fortunately."

 

"Why fortunately, Avon?" Blake asked, not to make conversation but because he genuinely wanted to know.

 

Avon was silent a moment and, in that silence, they heard the faint, distant howl of the wista. Avon stiffened, then he said, "Because that great bleeding heart of yours could never endure the pressure."

 

"I don't know about that, Avon."

 

"I do." He took another drink, continuing after a moment, "I could wish you success, but I shudder to imagine what your next cause would be. At least this one is relatively harmless, since the Greens will never fight the wista."

 

"And if they should, Avon?" Blake cocked his head and listened, but that one howl had not been repeated.

 

"Then I will have to make sure you are not in the thick of things." He passed his mug to Blake. "Do you doubt I could do it?"

 

"Do  _you_  doubt I'd resist you all the way?"

 

"Why must you insist on being a martyr to your cause, Blake?" Avon demanded with sudden viciousness. "Do you blame yourself for remaining alive when your family is dead? Or is it because of Gan? You have to keep trying, even though it can lead nowhere else. Or is it  _because_  it can lead nowhere else? A death wish?"

 

"That's not fair, Avon," Blake responded, hurt.

 

"I'm not concerned about being fair, damn you," Avon shot back urgently. "I'm trying to save your life. I don't know why I should bother."

 

Suddenly Blake did, Avon wasn't trying to be offensive, neither was he all that scornful of Blake's cause at the moment. He was worried about his friend and he knew no kinder way to say so.

 

Blake's tension flowed away and he smiled softly, taking a sip of the bitter drink with a grimace. "Avon," he said quietly, "maybe you were right, though it was never a conscious thing. I've lost too many people, and we all react to that in our own ways. I don't know whose way is better, but I know it's never easy. I don't want to die. I'd be afraid you'd take it as a betrayal if I did, and that's the last thing I want. You've become too important to me for that. But you're asking me to change my very nature. You wouldn't like me very well if I did."

 

"You're assuming I like you now," Avon returned with a very human grin.

 

"Is it such a wild speculation, Avon? Perhaps you're right, but you're right for all the wrong reasons."

 

Avon quirked an eyebrow at him inquiringly.

 

"You don't want me to stop because you think it's the right thing to do, and you don't give a damn about civilizing the Greens. You're doing it for sentiment, though you don't want to admit it." He smiled affectionately. "I must say I'm gratified, but let's not worry about it now. If it happens, it will happen the way it is meant to."

 

"Fatalism, Blake? It doesn't suit you."

 

"Perhaps not. But thank you for your concern."

 

"That's your imagination," Avon replied automatically and unconvincingly.

 

Blake laughed. "I know it is." He stood up, clapping Avon on the shoulder. "I'm going to take a look outside."

 

Avon was on his feet instantly, catching Blake's arm. "No, you are not."

 

"It's far away, Avon. I want to see if I can tell where. Maybe one of the tribes will need our help in the morning."

 

He detached Avon's hand gently and would have gone to the entrance, but Lamak popped out of the deep tunnel. "Not go, Blake-teacher," he insisted. "Danger. Need Blake-teacher here. Not go."

 

Blake was gratified all over again. First Avon's concern for his safety and now Lamak's assured him that it was possible for people to change. He hadn't been wrong when he had accepted responsibility for the Greens, though he could not force them to change. He especially wondered at Lamak's presence. He'd always suspected Avon had feelings for him, though he concealed it under a barrage of sarcasm and scorn. But for Lamak to brave the open cavern on the night of the full moons went against both heredity and training. "It's far away," Blake said reassuringly. "Don't worry, Lamak. If it starts to come this way, I'll hide in the tunnels as fast as you do."

 

"Last time not," Lamak reminded him critically.

 

"Last time I had further to come."

 

"He means your fun and games with the spear, Blake," Avon explained.

 

"I had to see if it was vulnerable."

 

"Vulnerable?" Avon echoed in disbelief. "It came at you like a juggernaut, Blake. It's about as vulnerable as Supreme Commander Servalan."

 

"Even she can be hurt, Avon," Blake reminded him. "We did attack Space Command Headquarters and get away with it, as you'll recall."

 

"I also recall having  _Liberator_  and my detector shields to do it with. If you had the  _Liberator_  here, I might consider helping you kill the wista."

 

"We don't have it," Blake replied. "And we're not likely to. I don't intend to worry about the wista for the rest of my life. I'll see it dead, and that's a promise, Lamak."

 

"Be very careful, Lamak," Avon cautioned. "Blake is very good at risking other people's lives in order to keep his promises."

 

Blake was hurt. He'd thought them past that. Avon did look mildly sorry, but he stood his ground.

 

"Must kill wista?" Lamak asked seriously.

 

"Yes, I must. Maybe spearing it while it's free is too difficult. Maybe we could dig a pit."

 

"The thing is reputed to live underground. Maybe it would just tunnel away."

 

"We could spear it from above," Blake insisted.

 

"There might be a better way to kill it," Avon mused. "Our guns."

 

"If our guns are here, Avon, they're incredibly well hidden."

 

"What mean guns, Blake-teacher?"

 

"Guns--we should have been wearing them when we arrived here." Blake fetched his holster. "In this. What did you people do with them?"

 

"Nothing in that, you come here, Blake-teacher."

 

"I had reached that conclusion long ago, Blake," Avon put in. "I have searched this cave and deep caverns and surrounding land thoroughly. If our guns are here, they are invisible. I suspect the Masters took them when they brought us here."

 

Blake nodded. It was increasingly evident that he and Avon had been brought here deliberately, but whether they were intended to stay forever wasn't yet clear. Avon must have some theories about it, but it was like him not to volunteer them though he might if Blake asked him to.

 

"We'll discuss that later," he said. "Right now, I'm going out there."

 

"Just because we haven't heard the wista close at hand doesn't mean it isn't in range," Avon objected, but Blake wanted to go out, and go out he did, with Avon trailing him reluctantly, braced to run. Lamak followed them to the entrance and allowed himself two steps outside. There he halted looking uneasy, worried and excited all at once.

 

"Lamak outside," he exulted. "Lamak outside, moons full. Lamak not dead."

 

The wista howled in the distance, and Lamak bolted back to the entrance, but he stayed outside, and Blake knew he was seeing one of the greatest acts of courage that any of the Greens had ever shown. Better not to test it further.

 

"Let's go in," he said calmly. "The wista's far away. We're safe for now. I could do with a cup of c'naveel. What do you say, Lamak?"

 

"Drink c'naveel, rejoice, wista far away," Lamak agreed, standing aside to let Avon and Blake precede him into the cavern. Blake suspected he would be insufferable for days, but that was all right. He had just taken a big step toward facing his fear. It would never be quite so hard again, though the actual presence of the wista would probably send him scurrying for safety like always.

 

The next day they learned that the wista had killed a dozen people and that dampened the high spirits of the cavern folk. Before Blake's arrival, all the Greens would have been relieved to live, even if they had lost a mate but now Lamak's tribe was showing the first trace of concern for others. They weren't yet ready to risk their lives but, when Mall had died of a fall the week before and the others had eaten the dead-meal, there seemed to be genuine regret that he was gone. Blake had encouraged them to tell all the happy stories they could about Mall, remembering his daring with a spear and his brash humor, and he had noticed a few eyes were bright with unshed tears. He hadn't known the Greens to cry before. Catching Avon's eye, he'd gestured toward them only to find Avon unsurprised. Had Avon already witnessed it?

 

It had not been traditional to eat the dead-meal for anyone but their own cavern mates before, but now Lamak turned to Blake as they registered the news of the dozen deaths. "Dead-meal for other people, Blake-teacher?" he asked.

 

"Yes, let's do that," he agreed. "They're people like you are, and they were killed by the wista." He caught Avon's eye. "I want them to start realizing that danger to one group can threaten them all."

"I wish you luck," Avon replied skeptically.

 

Just then Dannal entered the cavern carrying something suspiciously technological, some kind of box on a strap, with blinking lights. "Avon-danger, what this for?" he asked, putting it into Avon's hands. The computer specialist received it in openmouthed astonishment.

 

"Where did you find this?" he demanded.

 

"Masters not bring. Found over cliff edge in sack." he displayed it.

 

"That's my recording scanner," Avon burst out. "I had it in that bag--I had planned to take it to Sarken with me. I couldn't locate it when we arrived here, so I assumed it was removed like our guns."

 

"Maybe our guns weren't," Blake replied. "Was anything else on the ledge, Dannal?"

 

"No, only sack. Box have lights. What it for, Avon-danger?"

 

"It is a scanning device," Avon returned. "It will tell us about our environment."

 

"Why?" asked Rella, coming closer and peering over Dannal's shoulder.

 

Avon considered. "It tells if food not good, make sick," he began. "It can warn of danger. Maybe it can tell us more about the wista." He looked prepared to take back his words but Blake saw the potential and reached forward to pluck it from Avon's grasp.

 

"Is this another of your inventions?" he asked.

 

"It is a modification of the scanning probes that Federation exploration teams use," answered Avon. "I thought we might want something like this on planetary surfaces; it could tell us if we were walking into ambush."

 

"Do you think we could use it to learn where the wista goes when the moons aren't full?" Blake demanded.

 

"Assuming we should want to. It had a limited power source, Blake, and it's operating now. It could have been lying out there draining its power."

 

"Either that or Dannal turned it on when he found it."

 

Avon turned to him. "Dannal, when you found this, were the lights shining?"

 

"Not," Dannal replied. "I pick up, touch this, lights shine. Dannal afraid but not drop. Avon-danger happy with Dannal?"

 

"Yes," agreed Avon, switching it off again. "This could be invaluable, Blake." He checked the casing for breaches. "There are a number of things I wish to study, not the least being the acid secretions emitted from the Greens' fingertips. I've noticed it's not constant; they don't do it when they're eating, but they do when cornering their prey." He glanced down at his chest and regarded the fading scars there without enthusiasm. The lighter ones on his face had entirely faded but some of the deep ones over his ribcage might never leave him. "Well, yes," he muttered to himself, and Dannal must have guessed what he was thinking for he dropped his eyes.

 

"Sorry, Avon-danger. Not know then. Think giants mean hurt, kill us."

 

"Giants?" echoed Blake with a grin. He'd picked up on that a time or two when the Greens had discussed them in the beginning, but he hadn't heard it lately. "You were defending yourselves," he said hastily. "Avon-danger knows that. Don't you, Avon?" he asked compellingly.

 

"If you say so."

 

Dannal looked up at that. "Avon-danger not hate Dannal for hurt him?" he asked.

 

"No," Avon agreed. "I wasn't very happy at the time though."

 

"Not understanding."

 

"He means he forgives you," Blake put in. "We must have seemed pretty intimidating."

 

"What means intimidating?" Lamak asked.

 

"Frightening, like something new that could be a threat."

 

"Like Avon-danger when mad?" Joll asked, baring his teeth in a smile.

 

Blake chuckled. "Exactly. "

 

Ignoring that, Avon took his scanner and set off to study various items in the cavern, looking almost happy, and Blake smiled fondly as he watched. Avon's new toy would keep him occupied for some time, and he might even attempt to modify it into a communicator. Without proper tools, it seemed unlikely but Avon wouldn't let that stop him. He might even try to carve tools out of bone. At least for the moment, he was occupied and not thinking of the wista.

 

Blake decided to look for their guns, though he doubted they would be found on a convenient ledge. But if Dannal hadn't made a habit of hunting for eggs, this wouldn't have been found either. Maybe it needed a little more work. With the  _Liberator_  guns, they stood a much better chance against the wista. So he asked Dannal to show him the ledge.

 

Dannal led him there willingly, curving around behind the hill that held the group's cavern. It took them almost half an hour to reach the place, and as always, Blake drew back a little at the sight of that vast drop. The clouds were thick and fluffy below him, stretching as far as they eye could see. It was never possible to glimpse the valley floor, though he and Avon had once spent a whole afternoon trying to do just that. Blake peered over where Dannal pointed, noting the granite spires that pierced the cloud only a foot or two further out. They ran in a row like stepping stones. Blake found the idea of crossing them appalling. He'd never much liked heights.

 

"There, Blake-teacher." Dannal pointed to the furthermost spire, which was much wider than the others.

 

"What, out there? How did you ever get out there, Dannal?"

 

"Easy." Dannal wore the expression Avon sometimes did when he had done something clever that no one else had even thought of. "Like this." He steadied himself on the edge then, extending his arms for balance like a tightrope walker, he stepped to the first spire, the second, and so on, until he reached the widest spire of all. "Easy," he repeated as if he didn't have a nerve in his body. "Blake-teacher try?" he asked, grinning.

 

"Blake-teacher will stay right here," Blake insisted. "Just show me where you found Avon's machine."

 

"There." Dannal pointed at a ledge a few feet down the spire.

 

Blake looked down. He saw the nest where Dannal had recovered the eggs, leaving one or two behind to fool the bird. Thick clouds hid the drop and while the clouds might be at ground level, it was more likely they were high above the valley floor. The fact that the air was not thin on the plateau might only indicate that the planet's envelope of atmosphere was thicker than Earth's had been. There was no way of telling how far he would fall if he took one misstep.

 

Dannal scrambled down to the ledge without a qualm. These people had superb balance; Blake suspected he'd suffer an attack of vertigo if he tried to walk out there, but Dannal did it easily and naturally. If anyone could ever hope to climb down to the valley floor, it might be Dannal.

 

That thought was interrupted by a new sound, the leathery beat of wings. "Dannal, the bird's coming back," Blake warned him in alarm. While the flying reptiles had never yet attacked anyone that Blake knew of, they might react differently to an invader in their nests.

 

Dannal evidently thought so too, for he shivered in alarm and ducked against the side of the stack. The bird saw him and dove at him with hoarse cries, talons spread.

 

Blake threw his spear, but he was accustomed to kvelits, which were slow, lethargic and easy to kill, and the spear missed by a good six inches, bounced off the side of the stack, and fell, rebounding off the spire again and again. Later on, Blake said he could hear it fall long after he had moved to help Dannal, proving how far above the valley floor the Top of the World was.

 

The bird soared in low and dove at Dannal, who waved his arms, yelling. But the bird caught him in the forearm with its beak, causing him to stagger back into the nest itself, followed by the bird. Shrieking in pain, Dannal flung his face down and covered his head with his arms.

 

Blake didn't remember jumping from spire to spire. The next thing he knew, he was fending off the bird with his bare hands, beating at it as it swooped and dove. He felt the talons rake his arm, and he cried out at the pain, but he kept hitting at it. In a stroke of luck, he got a grip on it and closed his fingers around its thick, scaly neck. It kept shooting its head forward, aiming for his eyes, and he had to turn his head away as he tried to choke it. One blow scraped his cheek and he felt blood flow down the side of his face. The claws raked at his belly. missing him fractionally but shredding his tunic. If it hadn't been baggy, the creature would have had it out of the way, but instead it caught one foot in the extra material and couldn't fight so hard.

 

Just when Blake thought he couldn't hold on any more, it beat its feet in a sudden tattoo against his arm and went limp. Disgusted and shaken, Blake flung it away from him over the cliff's edge, and suddenly his knees lost their starch and deposited him in the nest with Dannal.

 

"Blake-teacher dead?" Dannal's voice sounded alarmed in his ears. "Blake-teacher tell Dannal what to do." Then his voice went away and so did the light.

 

* * * * *

 

 

"Blake! Damn you, Blake, answer me." The voice was angry and threatening and about a foot away, and Blake wondered vaguely what had so angered Avon, then pain hit him in his face, his arm, and his ribcage, and he shuddered and moaned. It took another moment to remember what had happened, then he muttered weakly. "The bird!" and opened his eyes.

 

Avon bent over him, his face white, his mouth drawn in a tight line. When Blake opened his eyes, relief flashed in his face and he said, "Alive, I see. You don't deserve to be after a stunt like that."

 

Blake nodded then wished he hadn't. The whole side of his face throbbed, and the movement made him dizzy. "What happened?"

 

"Suppose  _you_  tell  _me._  Dannal said you were wrestling with something as big as an eagle. It looks like it won, but it isn't here, so I assume that means you did."

 

"Where are we?" Blake asked, remembering the granite promontory.

 

"Ah yes, the classic question. We are in a completely unenviable position. What in hell prompted you to come out here?"

 

"The bird attacked Dannal."

 

"Heroism," Avon snorted in disgust. "No, leave it!" he added when Blake tried to raise his hand to examine his throbbing face.

 

"What did it do to me?"

 

"It missed your eye by a fraction of an inch. It also took most of the skin off your forearm. I think the bone may be cracked, so don't try to move your arm. I'm also not too sure about your ribs."

 

"What about Dannal?" Blake asked weakly, feeling sudden shivers course through him. It must be reaction, he realized. Abruptly he began to shake violently, and Avon bit back a harsh comment and gathered Blake into his arms as if he were a child. That Avon was an unlikely person to offer comfort occurred to Blake, but he didn't resist it. His teeth were chattering, and the spasms were almost painful in their intensity.

 

Avon said nothing, simply holding him until the spell passed, then he let go with careful matter of factness. "Dannal isn't badly hurt," he assured him. "You've forgotten they have tougher skins than humans do. A few scratches and some disconcerting green blood, but he is the one who notified us you were in trouble."

 

"How?"

 

"Did you forget they were telepathic, Blake?"

 

"I didn't know they were unless they were in direct contact," Blake replied, wincing as Avon began to sponge away the blood that had run down his cheek. "That hurts," he muttered fretfully.

 

"And so it should," Avon chided him. "Dannal contacted me. I'd forgotten what it was like; it's been so long since Cally--" He broke off and added in a voice completely devoid of expression. "Dannal said, 'Blake-teacher maybe dead. Make quick, Avon.' I couldn't contact him in return to find out where you were. If I hadn't had the scanner we'd still be searching for you. If you ever scare us like that again..." His threat trailed off and he wiped the rest of the blood from Blake's face. "You're lucky your cheekbone isn't broken," he observed unsympathetically. "But you'll have a bad bruise, and your eye is starting to swell shut."

 

"Any more good news?" Blake asked dryly.

 

"Well, there is the problem of getting you off this place. I should doubt you'd be very steady on your feet."

 

Blake realized how lightheaded he felt. He'd been uneasy enough when he was in peak health. How much harder would it be to cross to safety now. "I don't think so," he said. "But I don't want to stay here either."

 

I thought not. I've been instructing the others in the construction of a bridge. It won't be heavy enough to hold your weight completely, but we can put it across the stacks and you can crawl across it with a rope around your waist." He gestured to the cliff edge where Blake could see a troop of Greens industriously lashing branches together. There were no large trees here, so they couldn't make their construction very sturdy, but they could brace it on the cliff edge and the edge of the largest spire. When he crawled across, the Greens could reel him in if he lost his balance or if the bridge broke. He'd probably do more than crack a rib or two if that happened, but he preferred it to living in a bird's nest until he recovered. The thing might have a mate. To make matters worse, it was mid-afternoon, and the wista was due back soon after dark.

 

Avon rose. "Can you manage not to fall while I supervise them?" he demanded.

 

"I think so, Avon."

 

Avon nodded and scrambled to the top of the spire, hesitating there. Cally would have done it better for she was good at athletics, an area in which Avon did not excel, but he made it back to the main cliff, greeting Dannal, who popped up beside him. Even from here, Blake could see the makeshift bandage on Dannal's arm, but it didn't seem to hinder him. "Almost done, Avon-danger," he announced cheerfully. "Avon-danger check knots?"

 

Blake realized that he must have been unconscious for several hours for them to have progressed so far. He knew time was of the essence. At the first sign of twilight, the Greens would flee back to the cavern, whether he was safe or not.

 

It was late afternoon before the makeshift bridge was ready. Avon returned across the spires, two ropes tied around his waist, and helped Blake climb to the top of the spire. Then the Greens shoved their bridge across, careful to balance it so it would not fall. They'd secured it to a tree near the cliff edge.

 

Avon braced it in a crack in the stone and tied a rope around Blake's waist. As if by signal, Dannal and Joll pulled it tight. Lamak and the others braced the bridge as Avon helped Blake to climb onto it.

 

Blake felt uneasy as the bridge gave and shifted under his weight, but it held him and he began to inch his way across, a little at a time.

 

"Steady, Blake," Avon encouraged him. "Careful. Take it slow."

 

Blake did. It seemed to take hours to cross the gap, but it could not have been more than five minutes before he was close enough for the Greens to grab him and haul him to safety. Though their hands stung a little, they were careful to hold back the acid as much as possible.

 

When he was safe on the plateau and the bridge pulled after him, Blake rolled over and propped himself up on his good elbow to watch Avon, who had a second rope around his waist. Carefully, he positioned himself then deliberately walked across the tops of the spires. When he was safe, he sat down beside Blake, glared at him, and said, "Nothing in the universe would induce me to do that again."

 

I'll keep that in mind, Avon. Thank you."

 

"I don't suppose you found our guns?" Avon ran his fingers through the coarse grass as if delighted to be back on solid ground again.

 

"No, there was no sign of them."

 

"Blake-teacher well now? Can walk? Nearly moons full."

 

Blake glanced up at the sky. The sun was almost down, so he rose quickly only to sway unsteadily as he regained his feet.

 

Instantly, Avon was beside him, catching and steadying him. "I can see you require my assistance again," he said. Pulling Blake's good arm over his shoulders, he slid his arm around Blake's waist. "Can you move?"

 

"If it comes to a choice between that and the wista, I can move."

 

"I thought you might."

 

The Greens set off at a rapid pace, knowing it would be close and, before long, they had outdistanced the humans. Blake felt Avon's uneasiness and said, "I can go a little faster, Avon. I can recover once I'm back at the cave, but you'll have to do my hunting for a few days."

 

"I am prepared to do so," Avon admitted, quickening the pace as color left the sky inexorably. Finally as they approached the camp, the first of the two moons popped up over the horizon, and Avon had to all but drag him.

 

In the distance, the wista howled.

 

Avon froze, and Blake knew it was all he could do to keep from abandoning Blake and running for the cave, but he squared his shoulders. "Come on! It's getting late."

 

"Avon, save yourself."

 

"No, I won't leave you here. Not after all the work we put in trying to rescue you. Come on." It was a snarl, urgent and harsh, and Blake tried to hurry, though his head was swimming and the ground beneath his feet seemed to dance and quiver. Quiver?

 

Blake remembered the feel of the wista behind him last time, it's heavy feet shaking the earth. Was it coming now?

 

"Hurry, Avon-danger! Wista come!"

 

Blake felt shock run through him. "Get out of here," Avon bellowed at Dannal as the Green raced toward them, spear in hand.

 

"Help Avon-danger," Dannal insisted. "Not let wista kill Avon." It was the first time he'd called him that without the qualifier, and he looked somewhat astonished at himself, but Avon didn't appear to notice.

 

"I doubt you can do that alone," he remarked, his breath coming in hoarse sobs. "Get back to shelter."

 

"Not," Dannal returned stubbornly. "Avon rescue Blake-teacher. Dannal want rescue Avon. Determined, he hefted his spear. Though Blake had reached the end of his strength, he couldn't help smiling faintly at the expression on Dannal's face. Had he been practicing expressions like Avon's?

 

They were nearly there, the cave just around the hill, but the ground was definitely shaking. Then Lamak was there, too, looking like he would collapse with fear in a moment. "Blake-teacher hurry," he cried. "Wista come quick."

 

"Blake better come quick as well," Avon responded, half carrying him into the cave mouth while Dannal and Lamak followed them, spears at ready. As soon as they were inside, Paro and two of the others shoved the makeshift bridge across the opening moments before the wista came into sight.

 

* * * * *

 

 

"How do you feel?"

 

Blake opened his eyes and stared up at Avon who held two dead kvelits tied together with a rope. "Dinner," he added. "You didn't hunt. Are you well enough to clean it?"

 

Blake had slept most of the day, waking in the morning when Avon dressed his wounds with the white goo that had worked so well on Avon's acid burns, then again at midday when Rella brought him a bowl of sludge. "Avon-danger fix before hunting," she explained. "Eat, make better."

 

Blake had never developed a taste for sludge but, in spite of its nasty flavor, it had proven nourishing, an excellent dietary supplement to kvelit meat and the rare eggs that Dannal sometimes found. He hated lizards, though they were more edible cooked, and he refused to touch the fat white slugs that the Greens found so delightful. But he could live with the sludge, and he pleased Rella by eating it all. He had dozed after that, and now Avon was back. Blake felt much better, though his wounds were sore and his arm had stiffened.

 

"How do I feel?" he echoed. "Don't ask. Probably not as bad as you did when we got here, but it's a moot point. Did we lose anyone else?"

 

"Lose? To the wista?" Avon shook his head. "No. Everyone was under cover. Everyone but us, that is. Blake, if you will persist in pushing your luck--"

 

"Eventually we'll kill that thing, Avon," returned Blake. "Look at Dannal and Lamak. They came out to give us cover last night. We're making progress."

 

"If you say so," returned Avon. "When will you learn to stop taking foolish risks, Blake?"

 

Avon was annoyed because he had been worried and he hadn't liked the feeling. Blake was touched. But not even for Avon, who was his friend, could he change his nature. "Probably when I die," he replied with a grin. "Don't look like that, Avon. I'm not dead yet, and it will take something unique to kill me, I think."

 

"Well, be more careful," Avon replied pettishly. "I've begun to feel that your death and mine may be linked, and I would prefer not to die quite yet."

 

"I'll try to be more careful," said Blake ironically.

 

"See that you do."

 

"How's Dannal today?"

 

"Rather full of himself," Avon returned disgustedly. "I hunted with him this morning and we encountered some of the Big Hill people. The first thing Dannal said was, 'Dannal outside when wista come. Dannal not afraid.' That got their undivided attention. I fear 'story hour' will be crowded this evening."

 

"Good. I want to spread the word."

 

Avon made a resigned gesture. "You never give up, do you, Blake?"

 

"Never. I didn't with you, did I?"

 

Avon looked affronted, then he relaxed cautiously. "Are you quite certain it's been worth it?"

 

"Quite sure. Aren't you, Avon?"

 

Avon hesitated for a long moment, then suddenly he smiled naturally and patted Blake's arm as he rose to his feet. "Yes, Blake," he answered with a resigned smile. "So am I."

 

That was a major concession, and Avon, who was not used to making them, strode off quickly, but he returned a moment later with the pot of goo and set about dressing Blake's wounds, face serious. "We're lucky Dannal found my scanner," he said carefully, choosing a neutral topic. "Otherwise we couldn't have been sure about your arm. At least it isn't broken."

 

"It feels like it," Blake objected "But I can use it if I must."

 

"Then use it to skin those kvelits," Avon instructed. "I'm hungry tonight." He finished his work on the arm and turned to Blake's face. "If we had a mirror I should relish showing you how you look," he said with sudden good humor. "This is one of the more colorful bruises I've ever seen. At least your eye didn't swell completely shut."

 

"It feels like the whole side of my face is huge." Blake complained. "I can see out of it though."

 

"Next time you decide to try bird wrestling, try to pick a smaller one."

 

* * * * *

 

 

That night, the crowd around the campfire included the entire contingent of their own group and the biggest group of outlanders yet. There were so many of them that they had to gather in a half circle behind Blake's group. Some of the locals tended to look askance on the size of the visitor contingent but Lamak, who was full of himself tonight, gestured for everyone to relax. Blake suspected he wanted the world to know he had dared to face the wista. Even five minutes outside was a heroic tale and Lamak wanted to revel in it.

 

Blake told as much of the story as he could, though he had been unconscious for part of it. The other tribes asked questions about the bridge Avon had designed, and he explained it. Like Lamak and Dannal, he seemed to enjoy the attention. As they described the building of the bridge, Blake heard mutters from the visitors, and he had learned enough of the Greens' language to realize that the guests had grasped the usefulness of such a device. That it would take several Greens working together to make it didn't daunt them as it once would have done. The project was useful enough to make it worthwhile, and Blake was delighted. It only made sense to start them on non-threatening projects, so he began to plan other useful devices the Greens could make for themselves, if only to give them the idea that it wouldn't hurt them to try.

 

The bridge was duly inspected, Joll proudly demonstrating how it could be used to block the doorway. That something could be used for two different purposes was a novel concept, and the Greens regarded Avon with awe for thinking of it. Avon took it as his due and began to explain how a boat would enable them to go further out on the pond or the big lake that was further away. "You all like fish," Avon reminded them. "With a boat, you could catch more of them. You could make a net."

 

"What net for, Avon?" Dannal asked promptly, willing to play Avon's shill if he thought Avon expected it of him. "Greens need net?" His eyes twinkled as if he found the word humorous.

 

Avon flung him a tolerant look of the type Blake had occasionally seen him spare Vila on  _Liberator_  when he was enjoying one of Vila's humorous remarks but didn't want to admit it. When he explained the net concept, it was a hit, and he was pelted with questions, in Terran, telepathically, and in the Greens' own tongue. He responded in Terran, reinforcing it with the local version of telepathy, calling on Blake for backup. Blake had never made a net, of course, but he was willing to try, and his own tribe, who wouldn't benefit from it very often, were fairly tolerant when Blake coached a more distant contingent on how to make one, using fine rope and weaving it together in a sturdy pattern.

 

Although the lake dwellers wanted to rush home and start work at once, they lingered to hear of the tribe's encounter with the wista. That Avon-danger might risk himself to ensure Blake's safety didn't surprise them as much as it did Blake; humans had different rules and customs that everyone found strange and alien; but that Dannal would risk himself and that Lamak had given them backing astonished everyone, and they asked a great many questions. Lamak fielded them easily, pointing out that he had been outside the first moons-full night as well.

 

"But not kill wista alone," he cautioned. "Take many people. Blake-teacher tell how." That produced the inevitable uneasiness and a few people crept away. Carefully Blake reminded the people how much safer life would be if there was no more wista. "Life good at Top of World without wista," he pointed out. "Now, who wants to learn to make something else?"

 

Blake came up with a few things that could be adapted to help the Greens. He knew there was a survival course taught at the Federation Space Academy in case one was stranded on a primitive planet, but Blake hadn't taken the course and didn't know the program. He had to play this by ear, and the next few nights were spent in planning. Avon thought of several useful items, one of which was little caps for the Greens' fingertips to prevent accidents, inevitable when one lived so closely with them. They made them from nut shells; it was the proper season for nuts, and the little shells were just the right size. The Greens were enraptured with the finger ornaments and most of them designed tiny bags to carry them in when not in use. Among them, jewelry had been primitive. Lamak wore a token--his badge of office--on a thong around his neck, and some of them wore leather armbands but, since they didn't work metal, they had no rings and no set stones. Blake and Avon had arrived with only their teleport bracelets, and a few of the natives had carved themselves bracelets to resemble them, but until the fingertip caps, the wearing of jewelry had been unimportant among the tribes. Now Lamak's band wore them, Blake and Avon could relax in the evenings and the Greens took it as permission to grab their arms and hang on them when they talked and generally make nuisances of themselves. Avon often looked like he regretted the idea.

 

When the nuts ripened, Avon questioned them about cold weather and the necessity of laying in a supply of food for winter, but he learned it rarely got cold enough to snow, the winter being rainy and cool, and the tribes simply wore more clothes, winding wraps around their arms and legs and donning rough cloaks. Hearing that, Avon began to make more clothes, and he spent a few evenings teaching the Greens how to sew. Blake had to bite back a smile as he watched Avon bent over a piece of fabric, the teacher only a few steps ahead of his students. The end results were awkward and didn't fit properly, but they were warmer than body wraps. The Greens even expressed a willingness to try the baggy pants that Avon had designed for himself and Blake, and each night as another tribesman finished his winter clothes, he would prance around the cavern modeling them.

 

Several months passed in rapid succession. Blake continued to urge the Greens to unite against the wista, but they still held out, though more and more of them listened as he drew diagrams of various plans to kill it, only backing off when he pushed harder. He was growing impatient. How many deaths would it take before the Greens realized that they could take charge of their own lives and stop the threat? At each report of deaths, he felt a helpless rage, and Avon, who had been sarcastic about his desire to step in and make changes, seemed to grow slightly more tolerant, though his skepticism for the plan remained unchanged.

 

If he couldn't humanize the Greens completely, Blake was doing a fairly decent job with Avon. Avon still wasn't as open as Blake would have liked and there were still certain taboo subjects, but he no longer denied liking Blake, though he didn't flaunt it either. But when Blake spoke to Avon of his frustrations, Avon listened seriously and if he sometimes made mocking responses, they were automatic, a part of his nature. Blake felt he could trust Avon with his hopes and expectations, and Avon did listen and even occasionally sympathized, although he seemed determined to keep Blake out of the thick of an attack against the wista.

 

"Risking your life like that would be futile, Blake," he insisted. "You are too valuable to these people to throw yourself away needlessly. Teach them, show them what to do if you must, but stay out of the fighting."

 

"And prove my words are hollow?" Blake defended himself. "I must, Avon. It wouldn't be fair to them if I didn't."

 

"It wouldn't be fair to them to waste your life after you've made them reliant on you either. I know you think I'm only saying this because I don't want you to put your life on the line for them, and that's true, but I've listened to you enough to know that you can't throw your life away when they're counting on you. You are 'Blake-teacher.' They will still need a teacher when the wista is dead." His mouth curled sardonically. "And while they would faint on the  _Liberator_  if they heard me, I will still need a friend."

 

Blake controlled his elation. "I'm glad you consider me your friend, Avon, but I can't just tell the Greens how to live. I have to show them. They've no experience of it. How well do you think they'll behave if I tell them they must kill the wista and then I run and hide when the actual battle comes?"

 

"Generals don't fight in the front lines, Blake. The planners arrange things. They have people to carry out their plans--as you did with us on  _Liberator_. The Greens should be able to understand that."

 

"I don't recall sitting back on Liberator and letting you and the others risk your lives without me, Avon," Blake reminded him. "I know what you're saying, though. But the Greens aren't experienced troopers who understand the rules of battle. They're an emerging race who still have a long way to go. They don't grasp the abstract yet. It has to be concrete for them."

 

"Then we shall tell the Greens that Avon-danger refuses to permit Blake-teacher to take risks with his life, won't we?" Avon asked smoothly. "Blake, you've even got  _me_  agreeing to take part. Why should they expect you to lead when I'll be positioned overhead out of range? They'll expect us to be together."

 

"If the leaders panic and run, it will all be for nothing. I have to be there, Avon, or it won't work."

 

"Vanity, Blake. Nothing but vanity."

 

"Is it, Avon?"

 

"I mean it. I'll talk to Lamak about it, too, don't think I won't. He's the only one who's seriously considering it so far. He'll listen to me if for no other reason than he likes you too much to want to risk your life."

 

Blake knew that was true. Lamak followed him about as much as Dannal did Avon, and he tended to fuss over Blake; he'd even helped Avon do extra hunting when Blake had been wounded by the bird.

 

"I'll speak to him too," Blake replied. He felt very strongly about this. "Avon, you can't believe I want to die. I have too many things to accomplish to throw my life away for nothing. For one thing, someone needs to keep  _you_  in line." He grinned at Avon's automatic grimace. "Besides, now that I finally know you properly, I wouldn't want to miss anything. And neither do I want you to have to live here without me--without another human anyway."

 

"Not just any human would do," Avon confessed in a low voice. Then he shook his head impatiently. "You continue to irritate me, Roj," he said. "If you won't take care of yourself, I shall have to do it for you."

 

"If you think you can," Blake responded with a laugh.

 

But the argument was never resolved and, as time passed, it became the only real bone of contention between them. As long as the natives refused to consider a wista hunt, it needn't matter and the two of them could ignore it, but it was always there in the back of Blake's mind, and sometimes he would feel Avon's eyes upon him and know Avon was thinking about it too.

 

* * * * *

 

 

"Your progress is slow, brother," Albatiron remarked, leaning on his elbows over the game table and looking down on the schematic of the Top of the World. "Your example has far to go."

 

"I have not used up half of my time, Albatiron," Maldorin replied patiently. "Already I see a great deal of progress. The Greens are learning and growing and have come far. Example works. You just don't like the time factor."

 

"Things are stagnant there. I don't believe you will triumph. Admit it, Mal. It isn't working as you had hoped."

 

"I don't admit it. This is still my move. You're trying to rush me."

 

"And if I am? There are always other games."

 

"If the only reason to play is to play, as you keep reminding me, then you are losing the spirit of the game yourself. But I think I shall intervene a little I can Interrupt."

 

"How?"

 

"Two humans, two savages. Suppose it were only one."

 

"You mean you'd kill one of your precious savages?" Albatiron asked, startled. He eyed his brother with new respect. "You interest me. Maldorin."

 

"You jump to conclusions, as always. I don't intend to harm my savages. They may die of anything that could kill the Greens, but that's in the fate of the game. I won't kill them. But suppose one of them disappeared?"

 

"For how long?" asked Albatiron eagerly. He could be relied upon to enjoy a crisis.

 

"Not long. Long enough for the other to fear for his life. Yes, it will be interesting and it will tell me how well Example has progressed. And perhaps it will perform a further miracle, brother mine."

 

"What miracle?" Albatiron asked suspiciously.

 

"It will stop you from annoying me."

 

"I shouldn't think one little Interrupt could do that."

 

"That's because you misjudge both my Greens and my two savages. I've grown remarkably fond of them."

 

"Boringly predictable, the pair of them," criticized Albatiron. He leaned over the game board. "Which of them will you Interrupt?"

 

"Wait and see." Maldorin sent him an amused 'grin'. "Curiosity, Albatiron? You're a bit of a savage yourself."

 

"Am I indeed?"

 

Maldorin smiled and reached for the controls.

 

* * * * *

 

 

Kerr Avon stood stop the hill above the cavern and looked across the Top of the World. From this height, he could see many of the nearby settlements and maybe a third of the plateau's rim, even, on the right kind of day, the glitter of the pool where he had spent some of his most pleasant moments here. It was cloudy today, the view limited by a persistent rain that had been falling since early morning. Avon wore a cloak draped across his shoulders, and his long hair, bound by a leather thong, hung over his collar, starred with moisture. It was letting up now, but the clouds had not parted.

 

It was midwinter, which meant the temperature was unpleasantly chilly at night even with the fire, and he and Blake had woven branches through the 'bridge' that guarded the door at night and padded it with cloths to keep the draft out. In the daytime, on a sunny day, it was relatively comfortable, but when it was wet like this, the damp and chill made it less than pleasant. Avon wore two shirts under his cloak, and he had donned his  _Liberator_  boots to keep his feet warm. They seemed strange and confining after the sandals he and Blake had worn all summer and into the fall, and they were battered and scratched, never intended to handle much rough terrain.

 

So far, there had been no snow, but the temperature had been dropping through the afternoon and the clouds were still thick; it could snow tonight. It was two days past moons-full, and Blake had complained bitterly to Avon only this morning about the five tribesmen who had died in the most recent attack, including a two year old child. Avon regarded the tribes with a growing impatience himself. Though Blake could be disgustingly gung-ho about 'civilizing' them and molding them into a cohesive group, Avon was coming to admit that, in this case, Blake was right. Maybe he couldn't defeat the Federation--although Avon sometimes found himself wishing Blake could have had more success there--but surely he could convince the stubborn Greens to do something for their own survival. Avon had begun to view Blake's failure as his own, a burden for the two of them to share, and such viewpoints invariably startled and irritated him. What had happened to the Kerr Avon of the  _Liberator_  who put his own survival before all else? Had he ever really believed that, or had he simply convinced himself it was only common sense to believe it? Or had stubborn, foolish Blake got under his skin and taught him a different perspective? Avon still found himself uncomfortable when he showed Blake by actions if not words that he was important to him.

 

It was more than just the fact that they were the only civilized people here. The Greens were improving, even Avon had to admit that, but they were a long way from becoming stimulating conversationalists, and he would never be fond of them. On  _Liberator_ , when Avon held everyone at a distance, he had derived pleasure, rarely admitted, from conversing with Blake. Even when Blake was trying to lead them into certain danger, Avon had occasionally found humor in the situation though it was a bitter humor, when he realized how poorly equipped he was to resist Blake the man if not Blake's cause. Here, away from the Federation and the others, away from the risk of betrayal, he no longer kept Blake at arms length. It was strangely satisfying to permit the friendship to deepen, to argue genially with Blake around the campfire, to gently mock his fierce determination to help the Greens, and, even more unlikely to enjoy their frolics in the pool.

 

Sometimes he wondered what would happen if they could return to civilization. Would they revert to their previous behavior, he with his walls erected again against the world, and Blake obsessed and driven by his cause? Could they keep the companionship they had created here and maintain their friendship? Avon was inclined to doubt it, but he would regret losing the easy camaraderie they shared now.

 

He loathed living like a primitive, though there was a certain satisfaction in overcoming obstacles here. He missed his computers and the technology he had been raised to rely upon, and he would have it back in an instant if he could. But, more and more, it looked as if he and Blake would spend the rest of their lives here. He believed they had been brought here deliberately but, if that was so, the manipulator who had done so had abandoned them to their fate.

 

As a few scattered snowflakes drifted out of the grey sky, Avon pulled his cloak tighter about his shoulders and lifted his scanner. Its power source was limited so he used it sparingly, but now he turned it on briefly to search for Blake. He had gone hunting that morning with Lamak, who had returned alone midway through the afternoon when he caught his quota, explaining that Blake-teacher planned to stay out longer. It wasn't wista time, so Avon had been unconcerned, but now the light was starting to fade, and he felt a prickle of unease.

 

Adjusting the scanner to human life signs, Avon aimed it toward the center of the plateau, searching for a trace of Blake. The range was limited since the power had begun to fail, but there was no trace of him. Avon shut it off with a scowl of impatience. Blast the man, where was he? It would soon be dark and, if he'd fallen and turned his ankle out there, Avon would have trouble prodding Lamak's people into searching for him. Though the wista only came when the moons were full, the Greens had a primitive, atavistic fear of the dark, and they rarely ventured out alone once night had fallen. They seemed to think it odd that Avon or Blake would wander outside in the dark, to study the unfamiliar stars or simply to enjoy the night. Though the Greens felt a proprietary interest in Blake-teacher, Avon doubted he could bestir them to hunt for him before morning.

 

"Damn you, Blake," he muttered under his breath. "I hope you're pleased with yourself. Back on  _Liberator_ , I wouldn't have bothered about you." He knew, even as he said it, that it was not entirely true.

 

"Why not bother about Blake-teacher on ship, Avon?" Dannal asked, popping up beside him. The little Green wore a bulky shirt, baggy pants and a square of cloth wrapped around his hairless head like a turban, but he was still shivering. "I don't like snow," he added petulantly. Avon was glad he had taught him and the others to refer to themselves as 'I'.

 

"You and Blake-teacher good friends," Dannal announced as if he'd been very clever to see it. "You and I good friends, too." He smiled. "Avon and Blake-teacher not friends on  _Liberator_?"

 

"That's rather difficult to explain."

 

"I not stupid," Dannal returned. "You, Blake-teacher different from Greens. I want to learn how. Greens not know about friends before you come here. Blake-teacher and Avon not know friends before either? I not believe. Blake-teacher save Avon when first come, before we know finger poison hurt, before we care. Avon save Blake when bird attack. Do friend things. Not do on  _Liberator_?"

 

How did one answer a question like that? The old Avon would never have bothered, but Avon had learned to tolerate Dannal, and he did not want to lie to him, or to deny his feelings for Blake. "On  _Liberator_ ," he said at length, "and in our world, it was risky to have friends. Our world is much harder than yours. There are dangers you would never understand and many enemies more dangerous than the wista. People fight each other, not as you sometimes fight over game but because people are different from each other. You were suspicious of us at first and we of you because we did not understand each other. Before I joined Blake on  _Liberator_ , I trusted few people and most of them betrayed me. I did not want to take that risk again. Do you understand?"

 

"I think yes," Dannal said slowly, frowning. "But Blake-teacher not hurt you. He good friend. Good friend from beginning."

 

Avon grimaced at Dannal's surprising perception. "Perhaps," he conceded reluctantly. "But Blake was somewhat different on  _Liberator_. He wanted to stop evil people who hurt each other without reason. Blake always wanted to make the world better."

 

"Blake-teacher and Avon do that here. Why different there?"

 

"Because there were too many enemies. It was impossible."

 

"But wista too big. Not possible either."

 

"If you're asking me if Blake is a dreamer who never accomplishes what he sets out to do, then the answer is sometimes. I should hate to admit it, Dannal, but I am coming to believe we must kill the wista."

 

"Avon follow Blake-teacher to make world better on  _Liberator_?" Dannal persisted.

 

"Not always."

 

"Vila-fun and Cally-leader and Jenna-pilot follow Blake there?"

 

"Generally, without stopping to think."

 

"But Greens stop to think about wista. Stop to think a long time. Do what Avon did on  _Liberator_? Avon happy with Dannal--with me?" he corrected. "Because I do like Avon?"

 

"I think you and your people must decide what is best for yourselves," Avon replied. "Blake should be here," he muttered. "He is much better at such discussions than I am."

 

"Avon good at everything," Dannal proclaimed expansively.

 

"Someday," Avon said, "I shall tell Blake you said that."

 

"When Blake come back, Lamak talk to him about kill wista," Dannal announced. He picked up his spear. "Dark comes. Go back to cavern, Avon? I not like the night."

 

"Blake isn't here," Avon reminded him. "I shall wait for his a bit longer."

 

Dannal obligingly lowered his spear. "I wait with Avon," he decided. "I ask more questions?"

 

"You may ask."

 

"Why Avon sometimes call Blake-teacher Roj? What mean Roj? Another identity?"

 

"Something like that. People from our world have two names. Blake's full identity is Roj Blake."

 

"Rojblake," Dannal parroted, making it sound like one word. "What Avon's full identity?"

 

"Kerr Avon. I should prefer to be called simply Avon."

 

"Not call Kerr? Blake not either?"

 

"Not if he knows what is good for him."

 

Dannal mulled that over. "Not like called Kerr," he discovered. "Dannal call just Avon. Is good."

 

"If you say so." Avon picked up the scanner again. "Where the hell is he?" he demanded impatiently.

 

"Maybe help hurt one. Other tribes not always heal like we do. Blake make help if he find hurt one out of cavern."

 

That was a reasonable suggestion. "Then he'll bring him back here," he decided. Lamak's band had several times been enlarged by such strays in the past few months, although the practice of casting off the injured had virtually been eliminated among the Greens unless the injuries were too severe to have hope of healing. Rella, who had become skilled at mending minor injuries, was much in demand, and as Blake and Avon's cottage industries spread from camp to settlement, injured Greens paid their way by making sturdy clothes, better shoes, fish nets, and a variety of simple and useful appliances in the caverns while they mended.

 

As the evening passed and Blake did not return, the Greens began to look upset and uneasy. Avon made several forays outside, accompanied by the more venturesome of the Greens, bearing torches, searching between their cavern and the next settlement. The tribespeople there were delighted to have Avon-danger visit them, and they invited him in as if he had conferred a great honor upon them, demanding a story. Avon could not refuse with good grace, so he told one about some of Vila's exploits, escaping as soon as possible. Now that Darkness fell earlier, there were fewer visitors around the fire, and never any solitary people. While the Greens were willing to visit other camps in a band for the promise of a good story, they didn't like going both ways in the dark. Since the bulk of the stories had been told in Lamak's cavern, his people were less willing to venture out after dark, having less experience. Reluctantly, Avon allowed them to return to their home caverns without finding Blake.

 

He slept poorly that night and was up at first light, grabbing a bowl of sludge and downing it with a minimum of heating, then throwing on his outdoor clothes. As quick as he was, he could not elude his shadow, and Dannal joined him at the doorway, winter gear in place, wearing his absurd turban. For once, Avon was actually glad of the company.

 

They spent much of the day hunting for Blake, but they found no trace of him. When they encountered other hunters, Dannal questioned them quickly, asking everything Avon directed him to, though more and more of them were picking up a rudimentary grasp of Terran and could understand Avon's questions though they usually replied in their own tongue. Avon knew enough of it to understand their negative replies.

 

"Damn it, it's as if he's vanished from the face of the earth," Avon snapped after a sixth such questioning session, then he stiffened, his face hardening. "And that is not as impossible as it sounds. Dannal, I am not a patient man. I would hear about the Masters now. No excuses. Could they have taken Blake from the Top of the World?"

 

Plainly Dannal did not want to answer, but he must have recognized the determination in Avon's face for he nodded. "Maybe Masters take," he conceded unhappily. "Never do before but could. Masters must bring Avon and Blake-teacher here. No other way to come."

 

"Who are the Masters, Dannal? Someone once said that they made you die. I want you to explain that now."

 

"Masters make wista," Dannal said quickly. "Put wista here, see how we do when wista attack. Say wista a test." He raised questioning eyes to Avon. "What mean test, Avon?"

 

In that context? Perhaps the wista was put here to see what you would do about it."

 

"Why?" asked Dannal simply.

 

"I don't know. It sounds like they enjoy playing with people's lives. They brought you here, didn't they?"

 

"No. Always here, Avon."

 

The same old answer, but this time Avon refused to accept it. "How long is always, Dannal? How long have the Greens been at the Top of the World?"

 

Dannal frowned and bit his lower lip, looking as if he might cry. "Not long. Four, five snow times."

 

"What! But you're older than that. You're an adult, and from the way your babies have grown, it must take at least fifteen years to reach maturity. But none of your children are over four," he corrected himself. "Which would tend to imply that no one was having babies more than five years ago. Which would also imply that you are an artificially engineered race, made by the Masters. They created you genetically and placed you here. But who would have the technology to do that and to bring us here as well, for whatever purpose--another test perhaps?"

 

Dannal caught Avon's arm and shook it, causing Avon to check automatically for his fingertip guards. He was wearing them. Some of the others occasionally forgot but Dannal, Lamak, Joll, and Rella never did. "Avon, I not understand anything you say."

 

"I'm not surprised," Avon returned. "It is beyond your comprehension. Let's take this slowly. The Masters put you here--you were never anyplace else, so you came to awareness here. Tell me about it, Dannal. What is the first thing you remember?"

 

"Remember spear. Hunting kvelits. Other things in head, in memory, but not-real. Know how to talk, know how to hunt, how to mate, where find water, know wista danger. Know other survive things, what food good, how cook, how make fire, how work loom."

 

"So you were brought into existence here and given basic programming on how to survive. Apparently it was meant that you survive at the expense of anyone who got in your way. Do you know what that means?"

 

"Yes. Means take care of self first, not worry if others hurt, afraid, hungry. Life always that way before Blake-teacher and Avon come." He shivered suddenly. "I glad Avon and Blake-teacher come. Like this better."

 

"Yes." He was mildly disconcerted to find himself agreeing with a primitive, but he was more than mildly annoyed to grasp something of the Masters' purpose. The Greens were an artificially constructed race who had been placed here some five years past. If the wista was meant to test their development, perhaps it made sense to bring someone like Blake here to help civilize the Greens. Blake had played into the Masters' hands completely--naturally. But if Blake were here to teach the Greens, why remove him now? Wasn't he working fast enough to suit them? Had they pulled him away to give him new instructions? Had both of them been programmed before? Was even their friendship created by the Masters? No! He would not believe it, though not believing it was a risk of the type he had long ago learned not to take. Had the Masters wanted him and Blake to teach friendship to the Greens, they would have awakened here on excellent terms instead of taking months to lower their guard to each other. That was possibly a fringe benefit for the Masters.

 

Or perhaps the Masters preferred the Greens savage and uncivilized and Blake had been removed because he was humanizing them too much.

 

But if that were the case, why bring Blake here at all? The tribes had been savage enough to satisfy the most bloodthirsty off masters. No, Blake had been brought to make them human, and Avon was here because he's been with Blake when he was snatched. Even involuntarily, Blake involved Avon in his causes.

 

Avon didn't know why the Masters would have taken Blake. He couldn't guess their motives, but he had experience of the Federation's scientific tests, most of which had less than savory purposes, and he could not believe that the Masters meant anyone well.

 

Avon raised his voice. "Whoever you are, return Blake now. You have no right to tamper with either of us."

 

If the Masters heard him, they chose to ignore him. Slightly embarrassed at his outburst, Avon subsided and turned to Dannal. "We will continue the search," he insisted.

 

"Whatever Avon say."

 

* * * * *

 

 

That night, Avon sat gloomily before the fire, staring unseeingly into the flames. There had been no trace of Blake. They had met some tribesmen who had seen him after Lamak's return to camp, but all he had been doing was spearing a kvelit and starting home. Avon and Dannal had followed his possible route all the way back to the cavern, Dannal calling for him periodically, but they had found nothing. He could have been hurt, and it had been cold enough the previous night to do grave harm to an already injured man. If Blake were out there injured, he would be sick now if not already dead.

 

Avon refused to consider that. Instead he watched the dancing flames and mentally berated himself for getting into a situation like this. Blake had made him care, and Avon had been stupid enough to do so. Now Blake was gone, likely dead, and Avon was furious at himself. Even here, he should have known better. That Blake had not intended betrayal made no difference. Avon had lost enough people to know it was inevitable. He had lost his family and Anna, and he had been unable to save any of them. Now Blake was gone, too, and Avon swore he would never take such risks again.

 

Is that what Blake would have wanted?

 

It was almost as if Blake were speaking to him.  _Avon, would you rather we were never friends? Isn't it worth it, even if you are suffering now_?

 

 _Is it, Blake_?

 

He grimaced. Even in death, Blake continued to hound him, and the most annoying thing about it was that he  _was_  right. Avon would not have passed this up. It was the only thing that had made life bearable here and, even more so, it had been satisfying in its own right. Was it so wrong to admit it? Was it possible to live with this kind of loss without bitterness, without withdrawing again? Blake had learned to do so. Blake had lost his sister and brother, murdered by the Federation. Blake had lost Gan and known himself responsible. But Blake was Blake, and he viewed life with disgusting optimism. Avon wasn't made that way.

 

He lifted his head to glance around the cavern. The Greens were sitting dejectedly around the campfire in little groups. Joll had his arm round Rella's shoulders in a very human gesture of comfort and she leaned her head against his shoulder. Lamak sat with Sarpy, his mate, and she held his hand in hers and patted it from time to time. Paro was humming a sad song he had learned from Blake and some of the others joined n quietly. The atmosphere was grim and Avon knew the grief he tried to deny didn't help, but he lacked the energy and perhaps the desire to improve things.

 

Hands came down on his shoulders and Dannal said softly, "Avon all right?"

 

"No. Avon is not all right," he replied sharply then, when the hands withdrew quickly, he turned wearily. "Sorry," he muttered.

 

"I sorry, too," Dannal replied, dropping down beside him and leaning against him.

 

There was a time when Avon would have pulled away fastidiously, but now he merely shifted to a more comfortable position. It was too much bother to object. "Where have you been?"

 

"Outside, waiting," Dannal explained.

 

'You will wait forever then," Avon retorted cuttingly.

 

"Not," Lamak spoke up. "Blake-teacher no dead."

 

"I'm sure your source is reliable." Avon's sarcasm was withering.

 

"Avon-danger unhappy. Make sound mad."

 

"More and more perceptive

 

"Leave Avon alone," Dannal flashed at Lamak.

 

"Not," Lamak insisted. "Blake-teacher come back one day. Not find body. Blake-teacher not dead."

 

"Maybe so," Dannal conceded. "Blake-teacher gone. Maybe Masters take. No body, but not come back. Blake-teacher want us kill wista. We do for Blake-teacher?"

 

The Greens stirred at that, shifting uneasily, and Avon stared at Dannal in surprise. "A fitting I memorial?" he asked with forced lightness, though he doubted the Greens would join in without Blake's shining example. With a grimace at the thought, he heaved a sigh.

 

"Not know memorial," Lamak said. "Not eat dead-meal until know about Blake-teacher, but maybe plan kill wista. Avon-danger help?"

 

"Help kill the wista?" Avon echoed in disbelief. "You wouldn't do it for him when he was alive but you'll do it now? It's a pity he isn't here to hear you. I'm sure he'd appreciate a posthumous testimonial." He added more simply, "Blake-teacher want to help you, but you not let him. Now Blake-teacher gone, it's too late."

 

Dannal caught his arm and shook it a little. "Blake-teacher want us to kill wista. Not want to do it, be hero, want do it for Greens."

 

Avon heaved another sigh. "I can tell you've been listening to him. The fearless leader strikes again, even from the grave." The pang that cost him made him catch his breath sharply. Alone among the Greens, without Blake, he felt grim and hopeless. It wasn't his nature to cry for his losses, but he felt it all the same.

 

As if he understood Avon's unhappiness, Dannal turned and hugged him tight. "Avon not alone," he said. "Greens Avon's friends."

 

"That makes all the difference." He disengaged himself deliberately. Dannal took him literally, or at least pretended to. He squeezed him again and withdrew. "Story time," he reminded everyone. "Who tell story tonight?"

 

Avon ignored him, but Rella sat up a little straighter. "I tell," she offered. "Once upon a time, was a man..."

 

Avon blocked it out. He couldn't count the times Blake had begun a story with that traditional beginning and, even now, the Greens didn't understand it but regarded it as words to start a story with, and it was almost laughable to hear their tales of the day's hunt begun that way. But now it called Blake to his mind too clearly and he didn't want to hear it. He knew Rella was watching him, hoping to fix his attention. Rella was a sentimentalist, and that was the last thing he needed.

 

Avon searched for Blake again the following day, though there was no reason to believe he was still alive, or even on Top of the World. He talked to remote tribespeople, some of whom hadn't encountered the humans before, though there appeared to be no one on the plateau who didn't know of them. Interest spread rapidly among these further tribes, and they promised to look for Blake. Avon wondered at that. Surely when they had first come the tribes would have shown no interest in people from beyond their own cavern and, even if curious, they would hardly have been altruistic enough to hunt for a stranger. It was inconceivable that Blake's word had spread so far, but he met natives all day who asked eager questions about Blake and even a few who asked if Blake-teacher really meant to kill the wista.

 

When Avon agreed, it produced not the consternation he had expected but surprise and a little confusion, followed by much curiosity. Lately the wista had been more of a threat. There was no one on the Top of the World who hadn't lost someone to the wista, even if it was only an acquaintance, and Avon suspected that it wasn't so much that Blake was determined to end the menace as that the Greens had finally realized they had to act.

 

Some of them asked if the plan would be abandoned if Blake-teacher was dead. Avon was silent a moment. He didn't want to admit the possibility--no, the certainty--that Blake was dead. But the Greens were looking at him expectantly, and he knew he would have to take up Blake's plan where he had left off.

 

 _Damn you, Blake, are you satisfied_? he thought, shaking his head with a tolerant annoyance. Then he turned to Dannal. "Tell them the plan continues."

 

That night it was Avon who drew plans in the dirt before the campfire and, to his astonishment, the Greens listened even better than they had listened to Blake. It puzzled him. He was no leader like Blake; he lacked the motivation and he lacked the charisma, or whatever it was, that drew people--and evidently Greens--to Blake, to listen to him, even to follow him into death. But tonight the Greens listened to Avon, and for the first time, Avon realized what a terrible responsibility Blake had accepted, not only here but back home as well. How had the man found the strength to do it, and why would he want to? A part of Avon's mind protested loudly. He would fight the wista to remove the personal threat, to make this place safe for himself. He knew that was not the full answer; there were other factors involved, not the least being the unstinting trust that Dannal gave him, and the calm expectancy in Lamak's eyes.

 

"First of all," he said, looking around at the crowd of Greens, his on tribe and a large group of visitors, "we're going to do this as safely as possible. Do you understand that? Kill the wista, but try to kill no Greens. Blake's idea was all right as far as it went, but we shall improve upon it. I plan to drive the wista into the deep gully, and that will mean some of us must act as bait. I will not deny the danger. but I know a way to stack the odds in our favor."

 

"What mean stack odds?" Lamak peered over Avon's shoulder at the rough drawing.

 

"Mean give Greens better chance," Dannal explained. "Make easier for Greens to get away. That right, Avon?"

 

"Exactly right. Now here is what we will do. Over the next month or two, we will dig a deep pit here." He pointed with a stick. "It will be hard work, and we will take turns. One tribe will work for a day digging, then another tribe will work the next day. Each tribe can do a double hunt the day before, so there will be enough food. Every tribe must help to dig."

 

"What pit for?" asked one of the Big Hill people.

 

"The pit is a trap for the wista. Some of you kill kvelits by trapping rather than spearing them. This will be a wista trap."

 

"But wista see trap and not fall in," another outlander objected scornfully.

 

"No," corrected Avon. "Joll, bring the cavern door and take the clothes off."

 

Joll jumped up, tearing off the insulation of the 'bridge' they had made to rescue Blake from the granite spire. It was sturdy now, woven with branches to strengthen it, and Avon displayed its flexibility. "We'll make more off these and cover the hole, bracing it so Greens can cross it. But the wista is too heavy. When it tries to cross, it will collapse and it'll go into the pit. Before it can climb out, we will kill it with our spears. Once Blake-teacher threw a spear and hit the wista in the leg. The spear went in this deep." He marked off the length between his spread hands. "Enough spears and the wista will die. Now," he said challengingly, looking around the fire circle, "Who will help?"

 

For a moment there was dead silence, then Dannal jumped up. "I help," he volunteered, his face glowing. "I help, Avon. For Blake-teacher. For you."

 

"Lamak help, too," the headman offered quickly. "My people help. Kill wista, make land safe. Lose no more babies to wista." He glanced over at the leader of the Big Hill people. "Jaro lose three people last moons-full. Jaro afraid to help?"

 

Jaro glared. Relations had never been cordial between the two tribes, but now Jaro got up to examine the 'bridge.' Then he turned to Avon and said with dignity, "My people dig. Throw spears. Kill wista."

 

Suddenly the cavern was full of cheering Greens, "Kill wista! Kill wista!" Avon knew it wouldn't be that easy, but he felt a surge of satisfaction and triumph. The Greens had listened. He wasn't a more compelling speaker than Blake, it was simply that he was selling an idea whose time had come. The loss of Blake had shown the Greens that they might not get another chance and they were suddenly eager to act. The addition of the pit had helped, for they had all seen kvelits trapped in pits, unable to escape. It gave them an illusion of safety. While they still had a lot of superstitious fear and would probably fall apart at the first sign of the wista, he had a month or two for conditioning, to make them believe in the plan. Right now, their gut instinct was to flee if they heard the wista howl, but with time and patience--and sheer stubbornness--he might reinforce the thought that they could succeed. He felt none of Blake's heady satisfaction out of manipulating the Greens. Blake was good at manipulation and seemed to enjoy it. For Avon, it was simply necessary.

 

Avon grimaced disgustedly. He could hardly believe the changes in himself, but he was honest enough to admit he had changed. The resentment he felt toward Blake for creating a dependency in him and then vanishing was not nearly as strong as his grief at the loss of his friend, and while Avon hated being so vulnerable, he could not deny its reality. He didn't know how to deal with loss because he had become adept at shutting himself off from it, though his isolation had never been as complete as he had pretended.

 

Planning to kill the wista helped. He became so involved that a disturbance near the cave entrance didn't immediately catch his attention. Sensing it in the back of his mind, he discounted it, knowing the Greens' attention span was shorter than his own and reasoning that it might be time to take a story break. Before he could suggest it, the cave went dead silent. Expecting some new threat, Avon began to turn, his hand reaching automatically for his spear.

 

"You won't need a weapon, Avon," someone said.

 

 _Blake_.

 

Avon spun round, staring in openmouthed disbelief. Blake stood before him, battered and dirty, rather the worse for wear, but intact and alive.

 

Avon grabbed Blake's arms and stared at him. Relief washed over him and he closed his eyes in silent thanksgiving. He even caught himself hugging Blake, who looked both startled and gratified at the unexpected action.

 

Then Avon held him at arms' length again and shook him lightly. "Damn you, Blake, where the hell have you been?" His relief was overbalanced by outrage at the anguish Blake had put him through, and he was furious.

 

"I found a small cave near the pool and explored it, but it wasn't very sturdy and the entrance collapsed. I've been all this time digging myself out," Blake explained. "Someone give me some sludge quick. I'm starving."

 

He displayed grimy bleeding fingers with broken fingernails, evidence of his difficult escape. "I'm sorry, Avon," he said quickly. "I knew you'd worry, but there was no way to let you know. The Greens must not be able to receive telepathically from humans unless they can see them. I tried that over and over. Thanks, Rella," he added as the tribal healer handed him a bowl.

 

"Blake-teacher need hands fixed," she announced. "Eat fast so I can work."

 

Blake was already eating, ignoring the condition of his hands as he scooped food into his mouth. Between bites, he studied the crowded cavern. "A wake, Avon?" he asked.

 

"Better a celebration," Lamak retorted eagerly, grabbing Blake and hugging him, almost upsetting the sludge in the process.

 

Avon's eyes had never left Blake's face, except to take in the condition of his hands. Now, seeing Blake waver under the onslaught of Lamak's enthusiasm, he intervened. "Sit down, Blake, before you

collapse."

 

Blake obeyed, surrounded by eager Greens. "I'm sorry I worried you, Avon," he repeated. "There was nothing I could do."

 

"It was not your fault," said Avon stiffly. At moments like this he was still uncomfortable though both were aware of his true feelings. "I should have known you were too unpleasant to die," he added

quickly. "But I warn you, should you ever attempt anything like this again, I shall kill you myself."

 

"Forgive me if I don't take that threat too seriously, Avon," Blake replied through a mouthful of sludge. He held out the bowl to Rella. "Any chance of some kvelit meat?" he asked her.

 

"Let us clean your hands first," Avon intervened, calling for water. Blake grabbed a kvelit leg that someone passed him and began munching while Avon cleaned one hand and then the other. He'd managed to peel most of the skin off his fingertips; they were raw and sore and began to bleed again when Avon cleaned them under Rella's supervision. When he applied the white healing goo, Blake's body relaxed visibly. "Thank you."

 

"Let that be a lesson to you, Blake," Avon chided. "Curiosity will be your downfall."

 

"I thought you were going to be my downfall, if I did anything like that again," Blake reminded him.

 

Avon smiled reluctantly. "You know what I mean, Roj," he returned, unable to maintain his stern façade in the face of his pleasure at Blake's return.

 

"Yes, I think so. Now tell me," he added quickly, as if sensing Avon's desire to change the subject. "What is going on here?"

 

"Plan kill wista, Blake-teacher," Lamak explained proudly. "Avon-danger make plan of pit to catch wista, then we kill."

 

"What!" Blake looked at Avon sharply. " _You_  were planning to kill the wista, Avon?"

 

"Someone must," Avon replied promptly. "It was starting to look like you would not be here to do it."

 

"So you decided to step in and fill my shoes?"

 

"Something like that. But it's no easy task."

 

Blake grinned at him. "I know it's not. But it looks like you succeeded where I failed. They actually plan to do it? I can't believe it."

 

Avon smiled smugly. "Yes, they plan to do it. I've added some safeguards. Under these conditions, even I might consider taking part."

 

"Indeed?" Blake looked at him with a combination of amusement and delighted affection. "It seems the trust I've always had in you wasn't misplaced."

 

"You are a fool." But even Avon heard the affection in his own voice. "In any case," he continued hastily, "we plan to dig a pit in you gully and camouflage it. Then we shall lure the wista there. When it falls into the pit, we shall kill it." He drew Blake over to his diagrams on the floor and involved the tribal headmen in the discussion. Blake smiled knowingly, but he ignored it. At the moment, he was comfortable with Blake and, although he would prefer not to discuss it, he liked the feeling.

 

* * * * *

 

 

Digging the pit took two months. It would have gone faster but for several things; the Greens had no metals to make shovels so they used less sturdy tools, most of which broke quickly. The most effective tools were large flat stones for scraping. Trees had not grown very large here and they needed a lot of wood to make the cover for the trap. The cooler weather made the ground hard, and rain hampered them. The diggers usually finished their shifts plastered with mud.

 

Blake enjoyed himself immensely. At last, the Greens were working together with purpose and finding fun in the task. They were starting to care about each other, and they were learning that they survived better when they cooperated with each other. Blake remarked on it to Avon several times and, finally, Avon grimaced in mock disgust.

 

"You've made your point, Blake. What do you want me to do? Sign an oath in blood?"

 

"That's not necessary. I know you see what I'm trying to do. I can't help wondering if you can transfer it to the cause when we finally go home."

 

"Assuming we ever do," Avon retorted. "Yes, Blake, I can see it, but I also see a great many problems there. Everything here is more straightforward. The Federation is far more deadly than the wista."

 

"I know that, Avon, but the principle's the same."

 

"Perhaps," Avon conceded. "But I still think your belief in the inherent nobility of the human spirit is largely misplaced. You have no proof that your great, downtrodden rabble even wants freedom from their chains, or that, freed, they wouldn't devise a government even more repressive than the Federation."

 

"You're a cynic," Blake told him fondly. "But if no one ever tries, nothing will ever change."

 

"Perhaps I simply want you out of it. I've come to--value you since we came here. I've learned how it felt to lose you. I should prefer not to experience it again."

 

"You wouldn't like me if I sat comfortably at home and let the galaxy go to hell in a handbasket."

 

"The galaxy is there already. And I value your safety." He paused and sighed impatiently. "But you're right. This mad devotion to your cause makes you what you are. If I accept you, I must accept it as well. I think you know that I shall never fully share your belief."

 

"I accept your stubborn resistance along with the rest of you, Avon." Blake turned Avon's words back upon himself. "Perhaps I need a devil's advocate."

 

"Well now, that is a position I find myself well-qualified to hold." He grinned. "As long as the right to say 'I told you so' goes with the job."

 

"We'll make it part of your job description."

 

"And if we should return to the  _Liberator_ , Roj? What then?"

 

"Nothing will change between us. I've learned to value you. I won't give that up. The thought of what I could do back there with you supporting me--"

 

"Is nothing but the purest optimism."

 

"Perhaps, but I'd like the chance to try."

 

Avon was silent a moment, then he nodded and confessed, "So would I. Though I fear my task will be far more complex than that."

 

Blake cocked an eyebrow at him questioningly.

 

"Yes. The nearly-impossible task of keeping you alive."

 

Blake laughed lightly. "I wish you the best of luck." It would be interesting to imagine Avon's loyalty and determination added to his own obsession against the Federation. If Servalan knew, she would be shaking in her elegant shoes.

 

But they had no reason to believe they would ever be found or returned by the Masters. Avon had repeated what he had learned from Dannal while Blake was missing, and it made sense. The Greens did fit the pattern of a newly-created race. So many things were new to them and, while they had been created with a knowledge of language and some basic programming, they lacked a tradition and history, and the fact that none of the children was older than four proved that there had been no

earlier births. Someone had put a lot of effort into them, far more so than the Decimas, yet there was a kind of similarity. Remembering the way the Decimas had come charging in to destroy their creators, Blake could picture the Greens doing the same. but awareness of existence led to questions, and the Greens, like the Decimas, had refused to remain static. If Avon's theory was correct that the two of them had been brought here for a purpose, they might be returned when their task was done. Blake wondered what would happen once the wista died. Was that the objective? Or was there something they hadn't thought of yet?

 

What had happened to the  _Liberator_  since they'd vanished? What were Jenna, Cally and Vila doing now? Had they remained together? Did they still search for them, or had they given up long ago? Without Blake's drive, had they abandoned the cause? He doubted Cally had, but the other two had never believed in it. Jenna's belief was personal, in him rather than the cause, and Vila had wanted a safe place. Vila had likely stayed for want of somewhere better to go, because, of all of them, Vila could have blended into a planetary environment and escaped detection best. Blake hoped they were together and the  _Liberator_  was safe. If he were ever returned, he wanted it to be as he remembered it. Avon would no doubt view that as intolerable sentiment but, these days, Avon wouldn't hold it against him. Blake knew Avon missed the others too, especially Vila and Cally. He certainly missed living in a technological society, although he had adapted far better than Blake had expected. How intolerable this would be without Avon. If nothing else, Blake owed the Masters for giving them this chance to grow closer to each other.

 

"The Masters don't reveal themselves to the Greens, Blake," Avon had informed him. "I could get very little on the subject from Dannal; they must have some form of implanted race memory. Just as you were conditioned on Earth to believe you were not a resistor, so they know of the Masters, though they have been programmed to believe it taboo to speak of them. They never discuss them among themselves except in times of extreme stress, although there are veiled references if one knows what to look for."

 

"I've noticed," Blake replied. "Lamak is very careful about what he says, but I think they didn't kill us at the beginning because they suspected the Masters sent us. They knew we weren't the Masters, but nothing they did to you was permanent."

 

"I'm sure that makes all the difference."

 

"Do you still hold it against them?" Blake asked in surprise. Avon would never be very fond of the Greens; it wasn't in his nature, although he was remarkably tolerant of Dannal. But neither did he treat them with the cold contempt he had reserved for his enemies in their own world. He even showed remarkable insight in management of the Greens. It almost rankled that it had been Avon rather than himself who had persuaded them to take on the wista.

 

"No, I don't hold it against them now," Avon replied thoughtfully. "I don't remember the incident with fondness, but I accept that they were defending themselves. Besides, they hadn't yet been exposed to your bleeding heart."

 

"They seem to respond better to your acid tongue."

 

"That bothers you, does it?" Avon's eyes danced. "Cheer up, Roj. The Greens are cynics at heart. They can appreciate a pragmatic approach. Save your soul-stirring speeches for those who value them."

 

"You for instance?"

 

Avon chuckled. "I think not. I, too, require a more practical approach."

 

"A prod with my boot?" Blake asked lazily, sipping his c'naveel.

 

"You wouldn't hesitate to do it either," Avon replied. He rolled the liquid around in his mug. "I wish I could give some of this to Vila. It's easily the kind of alcoholic beverage he deserves."

 

"Oh now, that's rather harsh of you. Avon. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy." He sipped again. "Travis, perhaps," he decided.

 

"Or Servalan."

 

"Maybe we could use it to drown the wista in the pit."

 

"It would probably commit suicide in self-defense." Avon tossed the remainder of his drink into the fire. It spat and sizzled for a good ten minutes after that.

 

Some of the Greens came to see what the noise was and the peaceful moment dissolved into a demand for a story. Laughing, Blake acquiesced, glancing over at Avon, who smiled back. At moments like these when they were so much in harmony, it was hard to remember being at odds on the  _Liberator_ , although Blake suspected some of the conflicts would resurface if they returned home. The difference would be that they knew how to talk now and they could trust each other. It would make a difference, Blake knew. It had to.

 

Three days later, Avon told him about Anna Grant. Blake realized he'd always guessed that there was something like this that Avon kept bottled up, but this was worse than he'd expected. It was obvious that Avon had loved her, and Blake listened with careful deference, suspecting the slightest misstep would shatter Avon's fragile confidence and end the trust that had grown between them. Anna had died under Federation interrogation, died because she would not betray Avon, and Avon, too badly injured to attempt a rescue, had been able to do nothing until the news of her death was released. Then, weak and shattered, he had used his exit visa, only to walk off the ship at the other end of the journey into the hands of the Federation. It had all been for nothing, and Avon had faced interrogation in a weakened state, caring about nothing beyond survival--it was the only way he could win, the only thing that would give Anna's death meaning.

 

"She knew I would have come for her if I could," Avon admitted finally. "It was my only consolation, Blake. I had to survive because to do less would be to take what little meaning there was to her sacrifice. I never dreamed how hard survival could be. Survival without meaning is worse than death. It became easier to hold to my bitterness than to let it go and, in the end, survival became both the means and the end. It took me a long time to see past that."

 

"But you did see past it, Avon."

 

"I used to watch you on  _Liberator_  and despise you for your convictions and your idiotic belief that there was any nobility in the human spirit," Avon acknowledged. "But even more irksome was the fact that, in spite of your optimism and your foolish beliefs and your cause, I couldn't stop liking you. I didn't want to like you. I preferred to avoid all trace of feeling for another human being, but blast you, Blake, you wouldn't accept that. You kept on pushing and prodding. You breathed life back into the corpse, and I hated you for that at first."

 

"I know. I could tell your feelings for me were mixed. But I couldn't stop, even though I knew you were entirely capable of betraying me and the others and everything I believed in. Yet in spite of that, I trusted you."

 

"Damn you. Blake, you have no sense. How could you trust me?"

 

"Because I knew I  _could_  trust you, Avon. I confess I was rather careful not to put too much temptation in your way, but you're an honorable man; you wouldn't have wanted me to say so, and you probably still don't, but I've always relied on your word."

 

"In the end, what else is there to trust," Avon said quietly. "I didn't give you my word, Blake, I'd given it to Anna, and she died. I could commit to small things; one mission, one action. But not to a cause, not to a man, never to a friend."

 

"Don't say never, Avon. You know it's not true."

 

"That's because in addition to your stupidity, you are the most stubborn man I've ever encountered. And because it's different here."

 

"No. The things that might have constrained us are gone. It makes us free."

 

"Your concept of freedom is a unique one."

 

"So you've always said. But I do trust you, Avon. I have from the beginning, and I think you knew that even though you fought it. That's why you didn't betray me."

 

Avon shook his head. "I came close too many times. Blake. I almost stayed on Space Station XK 72. Fortunately I was foolish enough to return then. And I nearly left you on Horizon."

 

"Close only counts with solium flares, Avon."

 

Avon shook his head. "Platitudes do not impress me," But his eyes had begun to twinkle. "I won't leave now, Blake. I'll stick with you. But don't believe this means I will become an unthinking follower. If I disagree with one of your foolhardy schemes, I will certainly tell you so, and I will expect you to listen. Knowing you, you will always take the most difficult, risky route to your destination."

 

"I'll hold you to that, you know."

 

"I should hope so." He shook his head. "Anna's brother is still out there somewhere, Blake. He swore he would kill me. and he means it. I just thought you should know."

 

"You don't plan to kill him first?"

 

Avon slanted a look at Blake. "He is Anna's brother. I have no reason to want him dead."

 

"She must have been a special woman, Avon."

 

"She was." He rose abruptly. "I think it's time we inspected the pit cover now. Joll tends to get carried away if someone doesn't sit on him periodically. I should never have expected any of the Greens to possess artistic tendencies."

 

"Maybe not, but I welcome it."

 

"Don't you think the wista might notice the pit cover if it has designs on it?"

 

"We'll turn them upside down," suggested Blake. "Come on, let's look at them." In spite of the rain and the cool weather and Joll's attempts to turn the coverings into things of beauty, everything went far more smoothly than they'd expected, and it was midway between full moons when the pit was ready. Blake had designed a bracing system for the camouflage to lie upon, strong enough to bear the weight of a dozen Greens but light enough to collapse under the wista's bulk, and once the digging was complete. Blake had the Greens down in the pit erecting the framework.

 

The weather had warmed a little by the end of the month, not quite enough for lengthy frolics in the pool but enough that going to wash was not as unpleasant a task as it had been the last few times. With everything in place but the freshly cut leaves and branches to cover the trap, Blake chose to relax, though he could have wished the work had continued till the last minute. With time on their hands, the Greens could only worry about the danger ahead. Blake knew the whole plan would be for naught if panic spread at the last minute. If something went wrong, it would take months to convince them to try again.

 

Blake washed his long, shaggy hair with relish, knowing he would be cold and uncomfortable afterwards. Oddly enough, neither he nor Avon had suffered any sickness since their arrival; either the Masters controlled the environment to make it germ free or the outdoor life had toughened them. Wringing the water from his hair, Blake wished for Jenna's hair styling comb. At least it would be warm.

 

"It's sunny," Avon reminded him when he complained.

 

"It's cold," Blake returned.

 

"You're nervous. You want to pick a fight."

 

"Am I so transparent, Avon?"

 

"As always."

 

Blake watched Avon squeeze the water from his own hair. "I think you should leave it that way when we go home," he remarked provocatively. "Perhaps Cally would appreciate it."

 

"Do you think so?" Avon's smile was a little smug. Deprived of a mirror, he leaned forward to peer into the water to see his reflection. "Now who's guilty of vanity?"

 

"If you are not careful," Avon said ominously, "I shall pick you up bodily and toss you into the pool."

 

"Threats, is it?" Blake moved prudently out of range. "Yes, I'm nervous," he confessed. "This whole plan is my idea."

 

"Except for the best parts of it," Avon muttered sotto voce. Blake ignored the interruption. "If it goes wrong and we lose lives, I'll be the one responsible."

 

"Ah yes; guilt. I should have known it would surface before long. You have an amazing capacity for guilt and self-pity, Blake. If you don't try, more people will die. This way, you free the Top of the World from an ongoing threat. You give the Greens a chance to survive."

 

"Yes, Avon. Just as I'd do back home against the Federation."

 

"I walked into that one," Avon replied. but Blake suspected he had done it deliberately to turn his thoughts away from guilt.

 

Dannal came prancing up. "We go back now," he announced. "It too cold for swimming." He watched Avon rub his hair dry with a makeshift towel and asked, "Why you not shave hair off head like you do off face?"

 

The thought of a bald Avon sent Blake into paroxysms of laughter and, always ready to laugh, Dannal joined in without understanding the joke. Avon grimaced sourly. "Yes, Blake," he said. "My own mental picture of you bald is equally charming.

 

Blake stopped laughing at once. "Humans aren't meant to be bald," he explained.

 

"Tell that to Vila."

 

"Well, Vila does seem to be approaching the condition rather faster than you or I," he returned. "Some humans become bald, Dannal," he explained. "But not all of us."

 

"Hair pretty, but I not want. Easier to clean head bald."

 

Blake chuckled in agreement as he wrapped a cloth round his damp hair. "You're right, Dannal. But let's go back now. I'd like to spend some time before the fire."

 

"Getting old?" Avon asked.

 

"Getting  _cold_ ," Blake returned and they both smiled.

 

But there were few such moments after that. The full moons approached relentlessly and the Greens grew tense and uneasy. Tempers sharpened. Some of the Greens became so nervous they jumped at the least little noise and fights broke out. Blake did his best to keep order, telling new stories around the campfire, some of which he made up out of desperation, and he noticed Avon made an effort to hide his I-told-you-so looks. Blake would have been surprised if Avon hadn't felt that way, but he was pleased that Avon held back his criticism.

 

The day before the moons were full, the camouflage was placed over the pit and secured in place with ropes and vines. Cautiously Blake sent a few Greens across it and the structure didn't shift beneath them. He sent a group of six and still no trouble. He ran across it himself without problems. It was sturdy.

 

The day of the full moons, they spread cut branches and leaves over the mats to conceal them. No one had been able to determine the wista's intelligence, but Blake tended to think it very primitive. It would follow its prey but it could have done a lot more damage if it had been a great thinker. The spear in its leg had irritated it, but it hadn't tried for revenge. Probably it hadn't understood what had cause the sudden pain. That was just as well.

 

For the past few weeks, Blake had tested the Greens, choosing the quickest runners in the tribes. He'd also tested spear throwers and selected a hundred with the best aim, the greatest speed and the hardest throw. These hundred would be placed above the pit on either side. All day, as branches were spread over the covers, Blake saw Greens coming and going with armloads of spears. Sometimes Avon was with them. He would be stationed overlooking the pit, ready to give new orders if things went badly. Blake hoped it wouldn't come to that. So far, the wista had been remarkably persistent in pursuing its prey, never stopping until it caught it or until the fortunate Green escaped into a cavern. The trick would be to get the wista chasing the right Greens tonight. Since everyone else but the people on top of the pit were to be hidden safe in their caverns, Blake could only hope that the creature would chase the runners rather than the spear throwers.

 

* * * * *

 

 

"Blake-teacher afraid?" Lamak fell into step with him as he paced back and forth watching the laying of branches.

 

Blake smiled at his friend. "Yes, a little," he confessed honestly.

 

Lamak looked startled. "I never think Blake-teacher afraid," he admitted. "Think Blake-teacher and Avon-danger always brave."

 

"Everyone's afraid sometimes, Lamak," explained Blake. "It doesn't mean someone isn't brave. The more frightened you are the braver you can be."

 

"Brave not mean not-afraid?" Lamak asked in surprise.

 

"No, brave means facing your fear, doing what you must do even when you're scared."

 

Lamak thought that over. "Yes," he agreed at last. "Make much sense. Blake-teacher afraid a little at first, but still stop hurt Avon-danger. Blake-teacher very-very brave."

 

"What about you, Lamak?" Blake asked. "Are you afraid?"

 

"Very-very. Not like wista chase me. Make run fast-fast." Lamak was one of the best runners on the Top of the World, and he had been chosen to lead the runners. In spite of Avon's objections, Blake intended to join them too. He saw Avon's point about delegating authority, not risking himself when he was needed, but the Greens were not given to subtle distinctions and would work better if he was there. All Avon's reasoned arguments, scornful disagreement, and even an emotional plea had not changed his mind. Now Avon paced about overhead, along the rim of the pit, with the spear throwers, casting resentful glares at Blake from time to time, but Blake refused to be moved, though he suspected Avon was probably right.

 

"I know," he told Lamak. "Blake teacher make run fast too." Otherwise, the wista would have to compete against Kerr Avon for the honor of killing him.

 

"Have longer legs," Lamak pointed out. "Run very fast."

 

"I didn't quite outdistance it before," Blake reminded him.

 

"No, but carrying Paro then. Slow you down." Lamak grinned then sobered. "Blake-teacher, must ask. If I die, make Dannal leader. But Dannal make very excited. Blake-teacher help Dannal be serious, choose what tribe needs, not do before think?"

 

"I hope it won't come to that," said Blake quietly. "But if it does, I'll see to it, Lamak. You have my word. If I should die, be kind to Avon-danger. He will seem angry and cold, but he will be sad. He

isn't good at knowing how to be sad."

 

"I know that," the headman reminded him. "Avon-danger very sad when you lost in cave. Not know how to be sad. Avon-danger sad, make sound angry. I know. Blake have Lamak's word, I help Avon-danger."

 

"Good. I couldn't ask for more." He clapped Lamak on the shoulder. "Come on, let's get some food."

 

"Early to eat."

 

"I know, but I don't want to do my running after a big meal."

 

"Eat make slow," Lamak agreed. "Blake-teacher think of everything."

 

"I hope I have," Blake muttered. "I hope I have."

 

* * * * *

 

 

He encountered Avon in the twilight when Avon and the others chosen from their camp were setting out to take their places above the gully, and as they came face to face, the two men stopped abruptly. Avon's expression was reminiscent of those he had worn on  _Liberator_ , his jaw taut, his mouth drawn in a hard line, his eyes unreadable.

 

"I don't imagine I can persuade you that this is folly?" he asked, hefting his spear as if he would like to throw it simply to relieve his tension.

 

"No. I'm sorry, Avon. I don't want to do it, but I feel I must. We've been over this and over it."

 

"I still think you're wrong." Avon shrugged and cracked a reluctant smile. "But I know I can't change you. I won't tell you to be careful because I never waste my efforts in such futility, but I will remind you that I shall be very angry with you if you have the poor taste to be eaten."

 

"I'll be careful, Avon."

 

"See that you are." He set aside his spear and grasped Blake's arms, staring into his eyes. "I have no desire to be left in this place alone, Blake."

 

"I don't intend to leave you here." There was really nothing else to say, so Blake grinned and pulled Avon to him in a hug. At first, Avon tensed against it but gradually his arms closed around Blake, too. They held the pose for a long moment, then Avon freed himself abruptly and strode away without a backward look. The ever-present Dannal picked up Avon's spear and chased after him, for once having the sense to say nothing. He fell into step with Avon, and Blake was glad of it. If anyone could help Avon here, it would be Dannal.

 

Darkness fell slowly. Blake had chosen a waiting place where the terrain led naturally toward the gully, where it was more likely the wista would appear behind them rather than between them and their destination. That would have ruined everything. The Greens chattered among themselves uneasily, though Blake had taken them outside during the last time of moons-full to accustom them to being out when the wista was. It had been a good idea. They had been terrified at first, but now they seemed curiously calm. Maybe they were so frightened that they couldn't show it, but they didn't sound that way. Maybe the actual event was less frightening than the anticipation, and having a task helped, even though it was dangerous.

 

When they heard the first howl, they almost panicked, and only Lamak's stern, "Be silent!" controlled them. "Wista not here yet," Lamak admonished. "Everybody ready to run."

 

At least running before the vista was natural. If they'd had to run toward it, their task might have been impossible, but all they had to do was flee and their instincts would assist them. It might even be harder for the spear throwers for they would have to stand their ground while the wista charged. Avon could help there, though he feared the wista, too.

 

Lamak was so excited he was practically floating. He bobbed around cautioning one frightened tribeswoman, soothing a young man who looked terrified enough to faint, encouraging a blank-faced Green who seemed to have shut himself away from what was happening. Then he drifted back to Blake's side. "Once run begin, all be all right," he promised. Lamak was good at reading his people, so perhaps he was right. Blake hoped so.

 

The wista howled closer and Blake tried to guess its position. He thought it was coming the right way. It could have come at the other edge of the gully, where a second band of runners waited under Jaro's leadership, but it wasn't. The consensus among the tribes was that it was most likely to come this way.

 

"Not yet," he cautioned the runners. "We must make sure it knows we're here. It won't chase us if it doesn't see us."

 

"But I afraid," one of the younger males muttered resentfully, as if Blake was an idiot not to understand.

 

"I'm scared too," Blake admitted. "There's something about the wista that's meant to scare us. The way it howls, for instance. That's meant to be a frightening sound."

 

"Meant?" Lamak asked, instantly curious. "What mean, Blake-teacher?"

 

"Masters make," Blake remarked. "Make as test. Not test if not scare us."

 

The Greens shifted uneasily at the mention of the Masters, but Lamak bobbed his head up and down. "Blake-teacher, you right!" he announced triumphantly. "Wista test for Greens. Blake-teacher wise, know that."

 

The others cast sidelong glanced at each other, reluctant to agree or disagree, but plainly Lamak had not been struck down for his indirect reference to the Masters. At least they were thinking about it now, and Blake was pleased. He didn't know how he'd feel if he were a Green, artificially engineered, set on the Top of the World to learn how to work cooperatively. Then he remembered the first stories he'd told the Greens, the various creation myths humanity had invented for itself. Maybe this wasn't so different. The early humans had believed in a god or gods who created them. Although religion had been forbidden for centuries, Blake knew something about it, and he could understand the seeking of comfort in such beliefs. Never having been exposed to much in the way of religion--Cygnus Alpha didn't really count--he did not subscribe to such beliefs himself, but if the early humans had been right, maybe Blake's determination to bring down the Federation was a different kind of test. He preferred to believe he had a choice. Had the Greens been given the same choice, he wondered? They'd been given a gigantic monster and the potential to slay it. What they did with that potential was up to them.

 

The vista howled suddenly near at hand, and Blake froze, listening. "It's coming," he said. "Everybody ready now. Remember, don't stop until it falls into the pit. If it avoids the pit, go straight for the nearest cavern. It won't matter if we're cramped for space. It's better than being dead."

 

That won an uneasy chuckle from his band just as the ground began to quiver. Blake braced himself, peering through the darkness. The moons were full, giving light, but they were small moons, and the light cast many dark shadows.

 

Then the wista appeared in the distance, shuffling about, sniffing the air. Its bellow changed to one of triumph--or hunger--and it began to lumber in their direction, picking up speed as it came.

 

"Run!" Blake cried and turned to flee.

 

The ran for all they were worth. The distance had been measured carefully. If the distance was too far, the vista would lose interest and abandon the hunt; if it was too short, they would be caught. As he ran, Blake hoped they'd measured correctly, but as he felt the earth quiver beneath his feet, he was convinced that the distance was much too far.

 

He could see the gully ahead, but it was too far away. He knew that was an illusion but, at any moment, he expected the wista's long tongue to come shooting out and snatch one of his people, perhaps himself. He tried to hasten, though his breath was coming in hoarse sobs, and he could hear the Greens panting as they sped behind him. With his longer legs, he could have outdistanced them, but that was not part of his plan. If they saw Blake-teacher leaving them behind, they'd probably panic and scatter.

 

Almost there! Blake heard a cry behind him and turned to see one of the youngest males trip and fall. The wista's cry held triumph as it charged. and Blake and Lamak turned together, grabbed the hapless Green by the arms and jerked him to his feet. The male wasn't hurt; he was running again the minute his feet touched the ground, and the others didn't slow either, leaving Blake and Lamak behind as they turned again. The wista bellowed, and Blake saw his team reach the camouflage and speed across. Someone was yelling, and he realized it was Avon, shouting at him to keep moving.

 

He reached the trap and hurried over, Lamak a step behind him, and they raced for safety just as the wista plunged onto the hidden matting. Blake had reinforced it far more strongly at that end. hoping it would hold for the few seconds necessary for the wista to trap itself, and it did. Then came a crash and a roar, and the camouflage folded in upon itself as it gave way, taking the wista with it. Blake scrambled for the edge, feeling something shove him from behind as Lamak pushed him to safety. Hands grabbed him just as the rest of the shoring gave way, and he hung dangling over the edge of the pit, shaking. Something heavy and rough caught at his leg; the monster's tongue, and it began to pull him down.

 

The thing must have as much acid in its tongue as the Greens had in their fingertips, for the pain was incredible. He couldn't hold back a scream of anguish as he was pulled in two directions at once. Then he felt a sudden jerk on his leg and the tongue went limp and fell away. Blake felt himself yanked to safety, the unexpected motion making his head swim as he fought against the pain.

 

Dumped unceremoniously on the ground, he was unable to do more than sprawl there, but he could see the Greens on top of the ridges flinging spear after spear into the pit, and though he couldn't see the monster, he could hear it roar with pain and thrash about shaking the ground. The battle seemed to last forever, and the longer it took, the more certain he became that they could never kill it. He could hear Avon shouting directions at his team, his voice cool and controlled and, when Blake looked up and waved at him, Avon paused a moment, lifted his hand stiffly in return and went back to his work. Blake had a feeling he was due for a first class chewing out when everything was finished.

 

After what seemed like hours, the wista's roar began to grow fainter and the ground shook less. Propping himself up on his elbows. Blake stifled a cry at the pain in his leg as he leaned forward to see what was happening.

 

Spears jutted from the wista's body like a giant, ugly pincushion. Blake chuckled at the thought. As he watched, the wista's struggles became sluggish, blood glistening darkly in the moonlight. It went down, struggled to regain its feet, made it halfway, then crashed down again. The Greens close at hand were shooting arrows at it, and Dannal, who had popped up beside him, probably in a desire to miss nothing, suddenly let fly striking the wista in one small eye. It roared in agony, shaking its head back and forth to dislodge this new annoyance, and Blake suddenly cried, "Can you do that with a spear?"

 

"If Blake-teacher want," Dannal agreed, setting aside his bow and picking up one of the long spears they'd made for this purpose alone. He hefted it, took careful aim, and let fly. The spear buried itself deeply in the wista's other eye.

 

"Make good aim, Blake-teacher," Dannal said complacently.

 

"Make very good aim," Blake agreed as the wista went limp. Until now they'd only weakened it, but that might have been the killing stroke. The wista's brain was small, but Dannal's spearthrust had penetrated it. Its head sagged and it lay there quivering and twitching for a moment, then it was still.

 

A touch on his leg reminded him of his wound and he glanced down to find Rella cutting aside his pant leg and applying white goo to it. Blake looked at the red, festering band circling his lower calf and shuddered. Avon had had wounds like this all over him when they first arrived. How had he endured the pain?

 

Then the salve took effect, and his muscles relaxed. "Is it dead?" he demanded eagerly. "Did we do it?"

 

"Maybe dead," Dannal announced. "Not moving, not making noise."

 

Blake stared at the creature. It looked dead. Suddenly a swarm of Greens jumped into the pit and began hacking at it with knives and stone axes. When it didn't react, triumphant cries broke out and the Greens surged over the thing, hacking pieces off and eating them. Blake knew he would have to supervise, to make sure some of the meat went to each settlement, but his leg hurt and his head was a little light. He'd have Lamak do it for him. Lamak would know how.

 

"Lamak," he called. "Where are you?"

 

There was no answer. Blake glanced around but didn't see him, although Avon was making his way down the slope in his direction, trailed by the members of his team from the home cavern. Beside him, Rella turned her head away, and Blake was shocked to realize she was crying. He knew the Greens could, but it was rare.

 

"Rella!" he exclaimed in surprise.

 

"Lamak gone," Rella told him in a shaking voice. "Lamak cut wista tongue, save Blake-teacher, but wista stop Lamak. Trap him in pit."

 

In spite of the pain in his leg, Blake rose and limped to the edge. Torchlight showed him the massive corpse of the wista, swarming with Greens, but just below him lay a small figure, limp and still against the pit's edge. Lamak.

 

Blake's gut churned with sudden pain that had nothing to do with his injury. Ignoring Rella's attempts to stop him, he eased over the edge of the pit and knelt beside the slight shape, turning him over. Lamak's eyes were open and staring, but his body was still and cold. His ribcage was crushed, either by the beast itself or by the force of its movement, it didn't matter which. Lamak was dead.

 

"Oh no." Blake's voice was a breath of sound. Why? Why Lamak, who had become his devoted follower? Blake recalled Avon's words on  _Liberator_. "One more death will do it." Blake rested his hand on Lamak's shoulder as he crouched there on one knee, dropping his face into his folded arm. Not Lamak, who had learned so much, who could have helped his people to do far more. Lamak had spoken about the possibility of death, but Blake had never believed it would happen. Now it had, just as it had with Gan, and nothing he could do could change it. Avon had warned him. Avon had been right.

 

A hand dropped on his shoulder and he knew without turning that it was Avon. His voice hoarse and bitter, he said, "I killed him," without looking up.

 

"You could have hardly done this without some loss of life," Avon replied, his voice not hard and critical but soft and concerned. "You knew the risk and you accepted it. I'm sorry it's Lamak who died. I know how much you cared about him."

 

"You told me once," Blake managed, "that one more death would do it. Do you remember that, Avon?"

 

Avon swore sharply, but his anger was not directed against Blake. "That was another time and different circumstances, Blake, and I'm not entirely certain I meant it, even then. Why must you tear yourself up like this? Give the man's death the dignity it deserves. He knew what he was doing when he saved your life. Let it count for something."

 

"Saved my life?"

 

"Why do you think it freed you?" Avon demanded. "I saw it grab you and there was no way to stop it. I'm not good enough with a spear to guarantee my target. But Lamak had one of those stone axes we taught them to make. He chopped the tongue in two so the others could pull you out. Lamak was too close. He knew he could die. He accepted that. Let him go, Blake. Let him go with honor."

 

"I--" Avon's words were true, but the pain was so great he couldn't yield it easily. He dropped his face into his hands.

 

Avon muttered under his breath and pulled Blake into his arms. "Then cry for him," he urged,

uncomfortable with his advice. "And eat the dead-meal for him, but don't seem to regret what he did or you will show them you meant nothing you taught them."

 

"I shouldn't think you'd care for that, Avon," he managed.

 

"I don't," replied Avon predictably, "but you do, and that  _does_  matter to me." He supported Blake against him until Blake regained control, then Avon freed him and pushed him gently into a sitting position. "Let me see that leg of yours," he said. "I should have known you wouldn't come through this unscathed. I told you so, Blake."

 

Almost relieved at the conscious note of censure in Avon's voice, Blake leaned against the wall while Avon bellowed for Rella to bring more medicine.

 

The rest of the evening was chaotic, full of celebrating Greens, prancing around rejoicing, cutting meat from the carcass, crowding around Blake to touch him, speak to him, and he made himself respond properly, conscious of Avon at his side. While Avon said nothing further that could remotely be construed as comfort, Blake could sense his support. Back on  _Liberator_  he would have called it wishful thinking, but here it was real.

 

Lamak's body was buried nearby: the Greens didn't waste time with elaborate funerals, and Dannal observed that it was a tribute to be buried so near the wista he had helped to kill.

 

"You don't suppose there are more of them?" Avon asked as they finally set off for the home cavern, everyone loaded down with enough meat to last several days. Blake had suggested a holiday, a concept the Greens embraced with great enthusiasm. Blake couldn't share their elation, but he put on a cheerful face and tried to join in as best he could. Avon had been right about that too, but it hurt.

 

* * * * *

 

 

The next day, the tribe ate the dead-meal for Lamak and, after the dishes had been cleared away, Dannal came to stand before Blake. "Blake-teacher, who be leader now?" he asked. "Lamak good leader, but gone now. Blake-teacher be leader?"

 

"No, Dannal," Blake replied. "Blake-teacher can't be leader. One of your people must do that. Lamak wanted it to be you."

 

"Dannal nodded consideringly. "Maybe so," he agreed. "I smart and good hunter. Blake-teacher think I make good leader?"

 

"Perhaps," Blake said, "But you are reckless, Dannal. Must not be reckless in future. Must plan for people. Can you do that?"

 

"Lamak say I can, I can," he insisted. "I be leader. Lamak my friend, but dead-meal over. I be leader now. What I wear for leader token, Blake-teacher?"

 

Blake produced a stone he'd found a few days ago with a hole through the center. He'd liked its shape and the way it felt in his hand, but it could have more meaning bestowed upon Dannal. "Wear this," he urged. "Put a thong through it and wear around neck."

 

Dannal's eyes lit with enthusiasm. "Never see stone with hole before," he observed, holding it aloft for all to see. "Dannal have leader token now. Dannal leader. Blake-teacher order it."

 

"No, Dannal," Blake corrected. "Lamak wanted it that way. I'm only telling you what he said. Your people decide for themselves."

 

Dannal frowned over that, then he said tentatively, "Sometimes ask Blake-teacher and Avon for advice?"

 

"Sometimes," agreed Avon.

 

"But I think you'll do things your way now," Blake concluded as Dannal darted off to find a thong to lace through his stone of office.

 

* * * * *

 

 

Life settled down quickly after that. The wista was dead and the Greens insisted on learning more and more from Avon and Blake every day; how to make useful tools, how to live more comfortably. Traps and snares were set out to catch kvelits, sparing everyone the necessity of daily hunting. Several Greens were assigned to check the traps, and different tribespeople were given different jobs, such as skinning, cleaning and preparing meals. The Greens were now anxious to apply cooperation to everything, and it made life easier.

 

With the weather warming, Blake began to plan gardens. The worst of the rainy season was past, and the temperatures were rising. Blake explained the benefit of growing crops, and he and Avon ranged the plateau looking for potential food crops. There were wild grains here which could be ground to make flour and there were fruits and berries in season. The Greens grasped the point quickly and set about clearing lands to plant their crops. Blake was no farmer, but he had some basic ideas, and he explained them at length to the Greens, realizing that, as quickly as they learned new things, they were bound to discover more for themselves. He hoped they would. He wasn't sure how much more to try to teach them. If they had learned cooperation, the rest must follow, and he could be inhibiting their natural development. He said as much to Avon.

 

"Fine, Blake. Stand back and let them make their own mistakes," Avon replied promptly. "The minute there is a problem, you'll jump in with both feet. We're here. We can't pretend we're not. If we're right that we're here for a purpose, maybe that purpose is to teach them as much as we can."

 

"I don't know, Avon. If we teach them too much, they'll always be dependent on us, and you and I won't live forever. They'll have to learn to think for themselves. Now they've begun to work together, they have the potential to continue without me."

 

"And you're willing to stand aside and let them make their own mistakes?" Avon asked in surprise. "Then you've learned something, too."

 

"What have I learned?" Blake asked suspiciously.

 

"How not to meddle. If we ever get home, I hope you will remember that lesson."

 

Blake grinned reluctantly. "You never give up, do you, Avon?"

 

"With such an example as you, how could I?" He returned Blake's smile, then his eyes narrowed as he studied him. "Something else is bothering you, isn't it?"

 

"The possibility that there is more than one wista."

 

Avon groaned. "There hasn't been so far. Why should there be one now? Even if there is, the Greens know how to kill it. We never did learn where the wista came from. I think it came from beyond this plateau, and I think it came at moons-full simply because someone though that a convenient time. These Masters, most likely. I should like the chance to talk to them one day."

 

"So should I."

 

Suddenly, unexpectedly, mist swirled up around them, catching them off guard. Avon went for his spear automatically, to meet the threat, and Blake did the same.

 

When the mist cleared, they stared in surprise. They stood in a vast room of obvious technology; one wall held a built-in table on which were laid some sort of counters or markers, and beside that was a panel of extreme simplicity which somehow suggested a complexity and power beyond anything on  _Liberator_. Avon's eyes narrowed as he studied it, and Blake realized he was trying to identify the functions of the various controls.

 

"It regulates the atmosphere of this place and holds the Top of the World between dimensions, out of contact with either its own or yours, Kerr Avon."

 

At first the voice seemed disembodied, then a tall form emerged from a corner, even though Blake had seen no one there a moment before. "How do you do," said the man, who looked completely human and who was wearing a simple blue tunic over light colored trousers. His eyes were dark and deep with unfathomable thoughts going on behind them. Blake took the proffered hand automatically, realizing he no longer held his spear. It took a minute more to notice that both of them were dressed as they had been when they teleported down to Sarken so long ago, and that their clothing was clean and unworn instead of shabby and patched. and Avon's boots were even polished.

 

"Who are you?" Blake demanded automatically.

 

"We know who he is, Blake," Avon returned, hostility and suspicion in his voice. "He's one of the Masters."

 

"Nothing like that," the stranger put in quickly. "I don't like to regard myself that way. My name is Maldorin, and I am a player."

 

"Player?" echoed Blake. "Suppose you explain what that means and what's going on here."

 

"I had planned to do so. In the meantime, sit and be comfortable. I can offer you refreshments. Please. Be seated." He waved his hand and plush, comfortable chairs materialized behind them. Warily, they sat and noticed with surprise that a tray table now stood between the chairs with glasses containing a green liquid, a platter of little cakes between them. Blake took a glass and sniffed it cautiously.

 

"We call it chigana," explained Maldorin. "It's a flavorful concoction, and I am certain you will enjoy it. It is not drugged and will not ham you. I am greatly in your debt and prefer to conduct this interview in a civilized manner. Oh dear, I hope you have not been so long among the Greens that you would resort to violence."

 

"You put us there," accused Avon. "Without permission. Not exactly a civilized act."

 

"Perhaps not. I'm afraid our race tends to forget that you have a civilization of your own."

 

"Such as it is," Avon muttered under his breath, shooting dark glanced at Maldorin. "Let's get down to basics," Blake cut in. "Why did you put us on the Top of the World?"

 

"You know the answer already, Roj Blake. Because the Greens needed to be taught to be, as you put it, human. Because they were primitive and uncivilized."

 

"You created them in the first place," Blake accused. "You made them and put them there and gave them the potential to learn and some basic conditioning. Why?"

 

"It was my turn," Maldorin remarked. "My turn to play. I made the Greens. I had so many moves to get them to the stage where they are now."

 

"Play? Turn!  _Moves_!" Avon echoed, outraged. "You mean this was all a  _game_!"

 

"Everything is a game, Kerr Avon. But our games are important. Games of Humanity, to use your somewhat insular terminology. Elaborate civilizations require elaborate games. I make peoples. My brother Albatiron felt my Greens were progressing too slowly, so I speeded them up through Example."

 

"Example?" repeated Blake. He sipped the chigana, astonished to find it smooth and refreshing and wonderfully tasty. He took a second sip.

 

"It's a legitimate move. It involves bringing in an outsider, usually from an alternate dimension, who, by his actions, can teach and influence the game pieces, in this case the Greens. I felt they needed an Example to learn from, someone to show them how to be 'human'."

 

"Ah yes," breathed Avon. "Well, Blake, you should be pleased with yourself. You fulfilled your purpose wonderfully well. Roj Blake, example. The others will enjoy that."

 

"You are wrong, Kerr Avon," Maldorin said quickly. "But you are not drinking. Try it. I assure you it will be to your liking."

 

Avon deliberately ignored the drink. "How am I wrong?" he asked, affronted.

 

"Roj Blake was not the example I brought the Greens," Maldorin explained. "You were."

 

Avon drew back in astonished resentment. Blake had to hide a smile at the look on his face even as he felt a surge of disappointment. Avon, the Example?

 

"You see," continued Maldorin, "the Greens needed to relate to the example. Blake is a fine and worthy human, but he is idealistic, and the Greens are still far from such a concept. You, however, Kerr Avon, are pragmatic, maintaining a studied indifference to the problems of others. You pretend to care for nothing and no one until you almost believe it yourself. You held Blake's cause in contempt, even though you could not manage the same indifference for the man. You are unsentimental and you distance yourself from involvement. We felt the Greens could best identify with you. Even as they found the stories they learned from Blake-teacher of interest, they were drawn to you. They could understand your motivations better than they could Blake's."

 

"I believe I have just been insulted," Avon returned.

 

"If you mean I am reducing you to their level, not at all. It was simply that they could understand you better at first. But the face you showed the world is a mask, Kerr Avon. A necessary mask, perhaps, because your world is as harsh in its way as that of the Greens. But you conceal anything you view as soft and weak. You deny yourself the right to dream. You learn trust the hard way.

 

"So I brought you to the Top of the World. I brought Blake with you for companionship and also because he has the power to reach you. I felt that as you learned to trust him fully, to become his friend, the Greens would learn from you. They did so. If you had not been there, if Blake had gone alone, the Greens would never have accepted him. It was only by watching you change that they could change."

 

Blake hid a smile at Avon's thoroughly disgruntled expression. "You're saying I was Example for Avon and he was Example for the Greens?" he asked. "That's why it was he who finally persuaded them to kill the wista?"

 

"Precisely. If Kerr Avon could admit to the necessity of teamwork, then so could they. It was a test for one and all, and I am happy to say it was passed with flying colors."

 

"I'm delighted," Avon muttered sardonically.

 

"But how do you do all this?" asked Blake. "You look human, but--"

 

"But I should be very surprised if it was his normal appearance," Avon retorted.

 

"Kerr Avon is correct. I have assumed this form to make it easier for you to accept me. Actually we were somewhat similar at one time. Those days are long past, however. Most of our current form is non-corporeal, though we still cling to our old ways--this setting for instance. It is real and functional. I assume form to use it. I needn't do so. But pure thought can be tedious, and one might say we have the best of both worlds. Enough of that. The reason you sense extreme complexity in machines that look simple is easily explained. Most of these devices are simply enhancers. They enable our minds to function at greater than normal capacity. Thus I can design a race of beings and place them in a complex ecosphere without draining myself. We use the counters and devices on the gameboard out of tradition, something not without value, even to beings of pure thought. Everything here is real, though I could think it out of existence should I choose to do so. Everything at the Top of the World is real--and I assure you, Blake, that there was only one wista. I may allow large predators to develop there in future simply to keep the Greens from getting soft but, now they have achieved a kind of unity, it will happen on its own through evolution. I am grateful to both of you for your assistance. I have won the game. Now it is my brother's turn to try to do so well."

 

"I'm so glad we pleased you," Avon muttered sarcastically, his face hard. "What happens to us now?" asked Blake.

 

"Now you have a choice."

 

"Wonderful," Avon retorted suspiciously. "Not one we'll be glad of, I suspect."

 

"I must admit there is some truth in what you say, Kerr Avon. But I do not kill needlessly, so put that thought from your minds. Your first choice is to stay with the Greens on Top of the World. Conditions will continue to improve and you could teach them many things. You were right, Roj Blake, to question the appropriateness of doing so. If the Greens are to continue to mature, they must do it without your guidance. But if you so choose, you may return there and live with them. You would go together and you would have each other for company. I must say it is appealing to see a friendship like yours. Perhaps one of the disadvantages of this form is that we no longer need friends as we once did. I regret it. We meet, we converse, we share, but it is not the same. Friendship needs risk, you see, and challenge. We have none of that. Perhaps that is why we are such gamesters. Vicarious risk, challenge, danger. It is not the same as what you two share. A pity."

 

"And our other choice?" cut in Avon smoothly.

 

"You may return home."

 

"We'll choose that," Avon said.

 

"With a proviso," Maldorin interjected. "A simple one. When you return home, you return immediately after your departure. You go back to yourselves as you teleported down on Sarken. This time will be wiped from your memory. We cannot, you see, allow ourselves to be known in your universe. So if you go home, you go back with no memories of this place. You two have learned how much you can rely upon each other. You have shared griefs and sorrows and joys. If you go back, it will be as if it never happened."

 

Blake and Avon stared at each other wordlessly for a long moment. "You don't ask much, do you?" demanded Blake. "What about selective amnesia? Forget the explanation? You could make it seem a teleport malfunction that stranded us here."

 

"You don't want to yield your friendship?"

 

"No, we do not," Blake snapped. "I resent your terms. You had no right to manipulate us like this."

 

"He has power, Blake, and that is all it takes." Avon's face was hard again, the way it had been on the  _Liberator_. "Is that it, Blake? You want to go back? You want to prove betrayal is the only constant, no matter the dimension?"

 

"No," snapped Blake. "I won't give you up, Avon. I'll stay with you if you choose to do so. I'm trying to do this for your sake. You can't continue to live like this. It's not your world. For me, there is the challenge of the Greens. It would give my life a kind of purpose. But for you--no, it wouldn't be fair to you."

 

"I don't need your protection, Blake," Avon snarled. "I am capable of making my own decisions." Then he shook his head. "But this isn't the way to end it. He says I've learned from you. Maybe I have. I've learned enough to know that if you choose to stay here because you think it's best for me, you take away my freedom of choice, and you can't do that because it goes against your nature."

 

"I don't want to lose your friendship, Avon," Blake returned. "I've learned to rely on you, to know you'll back me. I was never sure before."

 

"And yet you said you trusted me."

 

"Don't you see, I did trust you, Avon. I don't know how wise that was, but I did."

 

"Wishful thinking, Blake."

 

"Was it, Avon?"

 

Avon caught and held his eyes for a moment, then he looked down. "Not entirely," he replied. "I wanted to believe I could use you and the others, that I could walk away at any time, and I had to do it sometimes just to see if I was still free."

 

"But you  _are_  free, Avon. Always. I would never have held you against your will"

 

"Not consciously, perhaps," Avon replied. "But you held me anyway, Blake. You didn't let go. Perhaps not even Anna has held me so strongly. I don't think I could have walked away, Blake, not unless you changed too much. If we go back, that's what concerns me, that you could change. I am not a tolerant man. I react badly to betrayal."

 

"Do you believe I would betray you, Avon?"

 

"Here? Never. Back there, against the Federation, driven by your cause? I don't know. You don't have to prove anything here, Roj," Avon said with sudden realization. "I trust the man you are now with my life. There's something else to consider. This degree of trust between us  _is_  possible. If we forget this, at least the two of us know now that we can do it. If we did it once, we can do it again."

 

"Avon! Optimism?"

 

"Perhaps I learned that from you," said Avon gently

 

Blake rose and Avon did too. They stood staring at each other, then Blake reached out and pulled Avon to him in a fierce embrace. "You'll never permit this back home," he explained. "And I won't leave without it. Avon, if you remember anything, remember that I care. Remember that we can accomplish anything together. Remember that I need you beside me. I need that icy logic of yours to balance me. Remember that you are my friend."

 

"And if I remember none of that, Blake?"

 

"Then, as you said, it's possible, Avon. It's always possible."

 

* * * * *

 

 

The room blinked out around them and suddenly Avon and Blake were standing on a marshy hillside with a view of endless ocean in the distance. There was a moment of disorientation, then Avon said sharply. "That wasn't one of Orac's better efforts, Blake. I should have known something would go wrong. Shore leave isn't my idea of recreation, especially on primitive worlds."

 

"I know that, Avon," Blake returned impatiently. "But everyone needs to get off the ship sometimes." He raised his bracelet. "Down and safe. What the hell is wrong with the teleport? I haven't had such a rough ride in--"

 

"Blake!" Jenna's elated voice interrupted him. "You're all right?"

 

"Barely," he replied, looking at Avon in surprise. "The teleport seems to be malfunctioning. There was some disorientation. I'm not entirely sure I remember landing here."

 

"Neither am I," Avon cut in accusingly. "What went wrong, Jenna?"

 

"Avon?" That was Vila. "You're all right down there?"

 

"We seem to be, no thanks to any of you. You sound concerned, Vila."

 

"Concerned?" echoed Vila distastefully. "Not a bit of it. It's just that when you and Blake go missing for hours and then pop up as if nothing was wrong, we tend to get nervous. Suppose it have been  _me_  using the teleport. It doesn't bear thinking about."

 

"I would prefer that it  _had_  been you," Avon snapped. "You mean some time has passed since we came down?" He regarded Blake speculatively. "We appear unharmed, though I am skeptical. Is the teleport functioning at present?"

 

"It's working perfectly, Avon," Cally assured him. "Orac and Zen can find no fault with it. I do not understand it."

 

"Neither do I, and I like it even less. We're coming up." He looked at Blake challengingly. "Unless our fearless leader has found some new way to risk my life down here first."

 

Blake glared back. "I hardly did anything to you this time, Avon. I was in as much risk as you were if something went wrong."

 

"It has functioned fine since then," Cally soothed. "We have all used it to search for you."

 

"Proving again your joint stupidity," Avon retorted. "Bring us up. I have no interest in remaining on this boring piece of earth."

 

They were back aboard in moments, Avon stripping off his bracelet in one Impatient sweep and advancing pointedly on the teleport console. "I do not relish entrusting our lives to a piece of machinery that can break down with no evidence of fault and repair itself without assistance."

 

"Maybe Zen was behind it," Jenna suggested. "Zen sometimes does strange things when we go beyond what he considers proper safety parameters. Remember how it went off line on our way to Space Station XK-73."

 

"Usually Zen gives us cryptic warnings first," Avon argued. "I, for one, will not be happy until I've stripped this thing down and put it back together again."

 

"Maybe it's because of your little games with it when Blake was trapped on that living planet," Vila offered. "I said you'd probably wrecked it." He edged toward the door as he spoke, half expecting Avon to retaliate.

 

But Avon only looked at him as if he were a not-very-interesting lab specimen. "Will wonders never cease, Vila? There may even be something in what you say."

 

"He approves of me," Vila muttered sotto voce.

 

"Hardly. Now go away."

 

"I was going already," Vila returned with dignity and left.

 

"Shall I help you, Avon?" Blake offered.

 

"Yes, you can..." began Avon automatically, then he glanced up in surprise and shook his head. "I'm sure I can manage without your dubious assistance," he returned. Why had he answered that way? Why had Blake even offered? It felt as if Blake had done it naturally, as if he were accustomed to working with Avon in easy cooperation, and Avon's initial response had echoed that. Why? He didn't need Blake's help, nor did he particularly want it. As was his custom, he would make better progress alone.

 

But as Blake turned to leave the teleport section, escorting Jenna and Cally before him, Avon's eyes lifted from his instruments and followed Blake. Before Blake left, he turned and regarded Avon with puzzled speculation. Strange.

 

Well, Avon told himself as he picked up a laser probe and went to work, the man might be annoying, but at least he had the tact to take himself away when he was not wanted. Avon still didn't understand why he had chosen to continue following Blake after the fiasco on Earth. He preferred to admit no compulsion, no loyalty. Besides, there was always the ship.  _Liberator_  would be his one day. He decided he could put up with Blake until then. It might even be worth it.

 

 

You will not remember this at all; you will

 

 

stand there

 

 

Feeling the wind on your throat, the wind in

 

 

your sleeves,

 

 

You will smell the dead leaves in the grass

 

 

of a garden;

 

 

You will close your eyes; With whom, you will

 

 

say, AH, WHERE?

 

 

"Memory Green" by Archibald MacLeish

 

the end


End file.
